Winter's Chains, Winter's Heart
by Rosawyn
Summary: Tony would never consider buying a slave...until Steve sees a friend he thought long dead up for sale. Tony's just here to buy raw materials—and maybe some alcohol—but he can't deny Steve. Besides, that arm is some pretty fascinating tech... He really doesn't know what he's getting himself into. 'It made Tony's teeth hurt. It was kind of adorable. It was just a little disturbing.'
1. A Thousand Times Over

o0o

**Chapter 1: A Thousand Times Over**

The smell in the market was oppressive. Someone needed to do some basic maintenance on the air filtration system if they weren't going to bother upgrading to something from this century. It was times like this when Tony thought it would be much nicer to just stay on the Stark 1 indefinitely, maybe with a few short stopovers at Avenger Tower. But sadly while he had managed energy self-sufficiency—because he was brilliant and awesome, thank you very much—he wasn't quite there yet with, well, anything else. They still needed food, for one. And raw materials, though these grubby little ports on these grubby little planets never seemed to want to sell them _raw_.

Still, sometimes it _was_ easier to re-work existing parts than to fashion what he needed from freshly-mined ore. Sometimes. And Pepper kept telling him it was better for...something. Less wasteful, maybe? Using metal that had already been extracted and processed. Though how planets and asteroids could mind being drilled for their shiny little centres, Tony never understood. But still, if nothing else, it was easier to go shopping from time to time at these glorified junkyards than listen to yet another of Pepper's reservedly irritated, painstakingly researched, wholly grammatically correct speeches.

Also, these markets usually sold alcohol. So that was a plus.

Unfortunately, this one also sold slaves. Not exactly surprising this far out, and with the current utter collapse of anything that had resembled order in the wake of the Second SHIELD-HYDRA War, it was inevitable that slavery would spread across the entire galaxy—unless some other ostensibly moral government stepped in to fill that power vacuum, and right now there didn't seem to be a long line of hopefuls. Most people with the means to seize such an opportunity were probably far too wisely wary of the scattered fragments of both HYDRA and SHIELD to poke around in the remnants of their territory for the time being. And it really had been '_their_ territory,' considering the way HYDRA had infiltrated SHIELD to its highest possible levels. Not for the first time since that war had exploded across the greater part of the galaxy, Tony was infinitely grateful for his own deep-seated trust issues and the long list of reasons SHIELD hadn't wanted him anyway. No, it was much, much better to be free and unattached when huge military governments started devouring each other from the inside out.

Gods—or just the one God in this case, he supposed—but speaking of wars, there was his own personal pet fossil: the walking, talking, living, breathing legend from the _First_ SHIELD-HYDRA War, the man out of time, Captain Steve Rogers. Woken from his decades-long cryo like Sleeping Beauty minus the kiss or the prince, but just as much a figure from a bedtime story, or at least the stories Tony's father had bothered to tell, whatever time of day it might actually have been—Tony had of course always assumed his father was at the very least _exaggerating_ when he said he'd known Captain Rogers. Had Howard still been alive, perhaps Tony would have owed the man a bit of an apology, because Rogers corroborated every damn one of those stories.

And if the general atmosphere of Port Whatever-the-hell was bothering Tony, someone who had more than thirty years experience with places just as bad and many worse, it was making his companion downright _mopey_. Tony's first thought would be to have a few drinks with the man to help him relax, but the stuff that made sickly boys into supersoldiers seventy years ago apparently also left them entirely impervious to even the best effects of alcohol. Which was inconvenient, because seeing Captain Rogers _mopey_ was just downright disconcerting.

Maybe part of it was that he missed his shield, but flashing that thing around in the current political climate was akin to painting a target on one's back. In fact, that was very nearly _literally_ the exact same thing. And as much as Steve would have been willing to just hole himself up in his cabin aboard the Stark 1 for the rest of, well, eternity, Tony was sure that wasn't good for him. Pretty sure. He really should ask Bruce. Or ask Bruce to talk to Steve. Bugger that whole 'I'm not that kind of doctor' bit. He was the only doctor they _had_ right now, so he'd have to do. It wouldn't hurt for the man to show a bit more gratitude for the free room and board Tony allowed him. And the paycheck.

Of course it didn't help that slavery symbolized everything Steve had ever fought against.

And that obnoxious merchant was shouting out prices and vaguely-worded qualifications—"Healthy! Strong! Well-trained! Ideal!"—while gesturing grandly towards the people in the cages.

But—_what the hell?_—were Tony's eyes playing tricks, or did that one slave really have a mechanical arm?

o0o

The slave known as Winter leaned back against the bars of his cage, legs stretched out across the scuffed metal floor and arms folded across his broad, bare chest, watching the dull mill of the market with half-closed eyes. He was supposed to be standing, flexing, showing off his attributes for potentially interested buyers, but he couldn't make himself care. This merchant wasn't his Master. His Master would never have sold him. His Master was _dead_. Winter had little reason to obey anyone, since the merchant would have to feed him anyway if he wanted his merchandise to keep its value, if he ever hoped to find someone willing to buy an _assassin_ slave. The food was basically crap of course, nowhere near enough protein to keep up an impressive-looking physique, but it was still food—it filled the emptiness in his belly, and that was enough.

Winter was a little too specialized for this market, which is why the other slaves—the untrained children, the labourers, the cooks, the cleaners, the mechanics, the pleasure slaves, even that one _wet-nurse_—all sold while he languished here day after day. If the merchant was smart, he would take Winter to a larger market at a more important port; there were still some among the galaxy's rich and powerful who could see the value in a highly-trained assassin, surely. But the merchant wasn't smart.

And he hadn't exactly asked Winter's advice. Likely wasn't the sort to ask a slave's advice about anything.

Slaves came and went, customers came and went, but nothing ever happened that was worth Winter's attention. Most of the customers ignored the slave section of the market entirely, either because they could never afford the price of another sentient life, or because of some distaste for the institution of slavery—the 'ignore it and maybe it'll go away' approach seemed to be working _remarkably_ well for that second set, because if SHIELD was as dead and gone as the constant buzz of gossip insisted, it seemed slavery in this galaxy wouldn't be going anywhere for a _very_ long time.

Rolling his shoulders, Winter shoved his flesh hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

"Bucky?" The voice stood out somehow over the general din of the market, cutting through the haze like a momentary flash from a beacon, from one of those lighthouses they'd used back when humanity sailed upon the seas rather than the stars.

Winter's eyes flicked up, focusing instantly and involuntarily on the speaker. He was tall, muscularly—_dangerously_—built with short blond hair, and he was grabbing the bars of the cage, peering intently at Winter with a mix of confusion, hope, and horror on his cleanly-shaved face.

"Bucky!" The man said it like a name, but who the hell was 'Bucky'? And perhaps more importantly, who the hell was this man saying it? He seemed...familiar, somehow. But Winter couldn't...couldn't remember why.

It really took the merchant far too long to notice a potential customer taking an interest in his merchandise, but that wasn't exactly surprising. Still, he finally did approach Winter's cage with an obsequious smile for the blond man. "Ah yes, sir, you have a good eye for _quality_." The merchant's voice was old oil slicked across the surface of water so dirty it toyed with being mud. "Such a fine and, yes, _rare_ specimen. Surely worth the price, yes?"

"What?" The look on the blond man's face as he tore his eyes away from Winter momentarily was far too confused, far too helpless. Inept as the merchant might be, he could easily best this customer if he was going to start the negotiations like _that_. Though...he really didn't seem the type to want an assassin slave—maybe he'd misread the sign...or not read it at all. He didn't seem quite 'all there,' and Winter wondered briefly who had let him wander around unattended in public.

Only wondered briefly, because another man, this one with dark hair and an air of self-assured confidence, appeared at the blond man's side and smoothly took over talking to the merchant. So Captain Strangely-Familiar turned his entire attention back to Winter. "It's me, Steve, remember?"

Well, Winter did remember...something. He just wished he could figure out what. But this crazy guy—Steve—and his companion looked like they just might be wealthy enough—and kind enough, if he was good, if he could remember to be good—to feed him well. To give him a better place to sleep than the cold metal floor of this cage. It was a gamble, but it seemed likely it was in Winter's best interests to be bought today. And it had been a long time since Winter had truly _wanted_ anything, but he wanted to know who this 'Steve' was and why he seemed so familiar. He nodded his head once. "Yeah, Steve." He swallowed against the sudden shakiness in his chest. "I think I do."

o0o

Steve felt tears in his eyes, but he didn't care, couldn't make himself care enough to try to brush them away or try to hide them. Bucky was _alive_! He was in a cage and he had a metal arm and his hair was too damn long, but he was alive. And he only said he _thought_ he remembered Steve, so maybe there was something off there, but...it was going to be okay now.

It was all going to be okay, because Tony was...Tony was going to get Bucky out of the cage, and they'd all go back to the ship together.

Steve couldn't condone the exchange of money for a person, but when that person was Bucky, he couldn't condemn it either. He'd do anything in his power to help Bucky, and right then he was gladder than he ever had been that Tony was insanely wealthy and willing to use his wealth to give his friends anything money could buy. Even if that was a human being.

Tony didn't have any slaves, of course, disagreed with the institution on principle much like his father had. And yet he was buying Bucky. Steve would have to find some way to thank him later.

Steve really didn't want to hear Tony bickering over the price, but he tried to make himself listen to the parts of the conversation about Bucky's health.

"Oh yes, sir," the merchant said, wringing his hands in front of his chest and grinning. "He's very healthy, well-fed too. No recent illnesses—fully checked out by a qualified medical professional—all his immunizations current and on record."

If the man started talking about Bucky's teeth, Steve might just have to punch him.

"Oh, I'm sure." Tony sounded bored as he poked distractedly at his Stark Phone. "What have you been feeding him anyway?" He looked up, eyes running over Bucky's exposed chest, assessing. "Some sort of grain-based carbohydrate mush with a few vitamin supplements mixed in? We'll need at least a week if not a month or more of feeding him decent food before he's fit for anything worthwhile. And I will, of course, have my own physician take a look at him." He gave the merchant a smile so sharp it reminded Steve of a bayonet. "Just in case yours happened to miss anything."

"Oh, of course, of course, sir!" The merchant waved his hands before him in the air. "But I assure you..."

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch." Tony tapped the edge of his phone against his lips. "I'm going to buy him." He gestured towards Bucky with his phone while raising one eyebrow at the merchant. "Because my good friend has his heart set on him, as you have no doubt noticed. And I'll even pay a bit more than I know he's worth because I myself like that metal arm he's got."

Bucky flexed the metal arm at that, apparently pleased with Tony's interest. A crooked smile twisted his features into something disconcertingly similar to his old, familiar cockiness. Steve tried very hard not to think about how Bucky might have lost his real arm, how it must have hurt, how an injury like that could have been fatal, how the prosthetic itself might still be painful.

"He got any trackers anywhere?" Tony asked. "HYDRA or SHIELD or...anything?"

The merchant shook his head quickly. "No, nothing like that at all. Very safe, this one. Belonged to a private citizen with no ties to either side of the war."

Bucky snorted a laugh, and everyone turned to look at him, but he just waved them off with his metal hand, _p__lease do go on_. It was a familiar gesture, one Steve had seen Bucky make many times before, but never with a metal hand.

"Uh-huh." Tony didn't seem convinced. "I'm sure an honest merchant like yourself would be extra careful to make sure of such things. In the interest of your customer's safety." Yeah, definitely not convinced. Steve had known Tony long enough now to appreciate how Tony could say one thing and mean the exact opposite.

There were more details about the legal ownership of a person that Steve couldn't help letting slide past him like tall grass in a field. He just needed Bucky out of that cage. He swallowed down his disgust when he was handed a tablet to scan his fingerprint, declaring to whatever passed for law and government in this sector that he was now the legal owner of the trained assassin slave; designation: 'Winter.'

The merchant held out some garishly coloured pamphlets, babbling something about, "retraining protocols" and "binding his loyalty," but Steve just stared blankly at them until Tony took the leaflets and tucked them into his breast pocket.

Placing a comforting hand on Steve's shoulder, Tony leaned in and said, his voice low, "Let's get both of you the hell out of here."

o0o

So it seemed Steve was Winter's new owner. All official, documented, recorded, and now the merchant was unlocking the cage with shaking hands. Winter pulled himself up slowly to his feet.

"You have made me some money today, Winter." The merchant grinned, showing off brown and yellow teeth. "But I'd rather not see you again, so try to make this new owner happy, yes?" The merchant was blocking the door to the cage, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other, leering at him. "I suppose it's not your speciality, but..." He licked his lips, eyes raking over Winter.

No, making people happy had never been Winter's specialty. But maybe if he decided he liked Steve, he'd try to keep him alive. Maybe he could do a better job with that than he had with his old Master. He should try to keep Steve alive long enough to solve the puzzle, anyway. And Steve did seem like the sort who would likely have _someone somewhere_ trying to kill him. Security might not be the reason he wanted Winter, but it was something Winter actually knew how to do.

It wasn't that he didn't know how to do sex—because that's what the merchant was implying, that Steve wanted him for sex. He understood the basics, anyway. And Steve was by no means an unattractive man, so there was that. But his skills were just far greater in other areas.

When the merchant finally moved out of the way, Winter stepped down from the cage onto the dirty market floor and into Steve's waiting arms. That wasn't exactly a surprise, so Winter tried not to flinch or otherwise react negatively. Instead, he carefully raised his own arms to return the embrace as Steve murmured softly near his ear, his voice choked with emotion, "It's so good to see you again, Buck."

He was probably supposed to say something back. Something like, 'It's good to see you, too, Steve.' But all he could think of was the warm scent of Steve as it filled his nostrils with shattered fragments of fragrant wheat fields and vibrant sunsets, distracted card games and easy laughter. He couldn't stop himself from jerking back then to stare into Steve's enigma of a face.

Before either had a chance to say anything else, the dark haired man cleared his throat quite deliberately. "This is all giving me cavities and diabetes and the whole bit, but do you think we could get back to the ship before...with the..." He made small figure eights in their direction with his phone.

"Yeah." Pulling back but keeping one hand on Winter's flesh arm, Steve gave it a gentle squeeze, nodding to his companion. "Let's go."

o0o

Of course Bucky didn't actually have anything, no bag of personal belongs, just the black pants and buckled boots he was wearing—property couldn't own property, so even that likely belonged to the merchant, or had before Tony had purchased the clothing along with the slave wearing it. But they could fix that, easily enough. Steve wasn't about to actually treat his best friend like a slave. Like people usually treated slaves.

They were walking past some clothing stalls, and Steve paused, his hand still on Bucky's arm. "Wait," he said, and Tony stopped and turned to look at him. "We should—" Turning to Bucky, Steve asked, "Do you want to buy some clothes here? A shirt at least?"

Bucky gave him a blank look. Finally, he said, "If you want."

Well, yeah, Steve _wanted_. He didn't want his friend to be cold or uncomfortable or... "This is about what _you_ want, Buck."

o0o

All Winter wanted was to figure out what the deal with Steve was, but apparently he had to have opinions about other things now. Like what clothes he wore. But his pants and boots were both black, so... "A black one?"

Steve smiled and bought him a black shirt. It fit well enough—that was apparently very important to Steve. Though it would just be easier if Steve picked out the clothes he wanted his slave to wear—didn't he know how these things worked? No matter what kind of slave, it was always the Master who chose the clothes. That was one of the perks of owning another person.

"Yeah-haa, looking good," the dark-haired man said, glancing up from his phone, pointing at Winter and winking.

"Oh, gosh, sorry," Steve said suddenly, ducking his head. "Bucky, this is my friend Tony Stark." Keeping one hand on Winter's arm, he gestured between them. "I'm sorry I forgot to introduce you. Tony, this is Bucky Barnes. We grew up together on New Brooklyn."

"Yeah," Tony said, slipping his phone into his pocket. "I sorta gathered that. The, uh, the 'Bucky' part, anyway. And New Brooklyn? I did a report on that once when I was a kid—main exports include wheat and supersoldiers."

Winter didn't remember growing up _anywhere_, but clearly he was meant to be this 'Bucky,' so he just nodded once and hoped no one asked him about it. One possibility, of course, was that he just looked enough like Steve's childhood friend that he'd confused the poor guy. But since Steve did seem so strangely familiar, the other possibility was at least as likely: he actually _was_ this 'Bucky'...or had been, anyway. He wondered idly if New Brooklyn ever exported assassin slaves.

At Tony's suggestion, they bought two more black shirts of slightly varying styles. Once that was done, Tony made them stop at a small booth to buy some roasted meat—which Tony called 'don't ask'—on skewers. Winter didn't ask, but it was the first meat he'd eaten in weeks so it tasted amazing. He would have readily eaten a second helping, but it was usually best for a slave not to appear greedy. Tony had said they planned to feed him well, and unless that had just been part of the haggling process there would be more food later, once they got to Tony's ship.

o0o

As they walked the rest of the way to the airlock where Stark 1 was docked—and gods if he wasn't going to be relieved to go back to breathing air that didn't smell like a cross between a pile of dead dogs in the sun and an intentionally foul mixture of stale fossils fuels—Tony allowed himself to marvel at the sheer wonder that he now had not just one but two living, breathing relics of the First SHIELD-HYDRA War tagging in his wake. Assuming the metal-armed assassin was truly Bucky, Captain Rogers' closest and oldest friend—and wouldn't that mess with the history everyone thought they knew once word got out? Bucky Barnes would no longer be the only Howler to give his life in the service, just the only one to give an arm. Though, they'd had to re-write the files once already right before the Chitauri War when Rogers himself was discovered to be alive. Which had been convenient for everyone who wasn't Chitauri as his tactical genius led SHIELD troops to a swift and decisive victory.

But what if Winter turned out to be a clone, a relative, or someone who had been surgically altered to look like Barnes? Banner could no doubt rule those last two out with a simple DNA test, but a clone would be, well, rather harder to disprove. Not that it would matter to Rogers...

Tony glanced over his shoulder at how Steve was still holding his new slave's arm as if afraid he'd dissolve into a holoprojection if he stopped touching him for a moment, all the while radiating a downright angelic halo of hope and happiness. It made Tony's teeth hurt. It was kind of adorable. It was just a little disturbing.

But no, Steve was absolutely sure this was Bucky. There would be no convincing him otherwise. None whatsoever.

And it would break his heart a thousand times over to try. Tony couldn't think of a reason it might be worth it, and he found himself desperately hoping the first slave he'd ever bought was in fact Bucky Barnes. Or at the very least was someone who wouldn't mind pretending to be for the rest of Steve's very long life.

o0o

**So here's my much-anticipated massive Marvel "In Space!" AU. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it! :D**

**In case you were wondering, the slave merchant is an OC.**

**Notes on parings: T****his is, primarily, a Bucky/Steve fic; the paring is the primary focus, even before things like "plot." Happy/Pepper is a background paring, but it's there, so you've been warned or whatever. There is also some one-sided Tony/Steve (and Tony/everyone really), but the Tony/Steve thing doesn't show up until Chapter 4/5, and like I said it's entirely one-sided, but there's your fair warning on that. There will also be some minor Charles/Erik in (much) later chapters.**

o0o


	2. Unreliable Instincts

o0o

**Chapter 2: Unreliable Instincts**

The Stark 1, it turned out, was anything but 'stark.' Tony seemed the sort to appreciate the irony of the name almost as much as the pleasure of naming an ostentatiously luxurious ship after himself. Winter's lips quirked upwards slightly on one side—he appreciated the irony himself. And the ostentatious luxury.

"Oh..._gods_!" Tony took several deep, exaggerated breaths. "_Real_ air! I'm never going to leave my ship again!"

The air aboard the Stark 1 was quite obviously cleaner than the air in the port. Sophisticated filtration systems were common on high-end craft, but this one seemed better than most. Though, part of that might just be the blatantly obvious contrast with the air Winter had been breathing for longer than he'd bothered to keep track.

Tony stroked one hand down the smooth metal of a bulkhead. "I missed you, sweet girl. You're such a nice ship."

After a brief pause, a crisp masculine voice replied, "Thank you, sir."

Tony shook his head, chuckling. "I wasn't talking to you, J."

"The Stark 1 is incapable of speech, sir," the voice retorted, "and is in fact incapable of hearing or understanding speech."

"Yeah, whatever, JARVIS." Tony patted the bulkhead again, pitching his voice low as he said, "Don't listen to the jealous computer, darling."

"I see we have a new guest," the computer said, ignoring Tony's comments.

"Yes." Standing up straight, Tony gestured to Winter. "This is Bucky Barnes, a good friend of Steve's. Do try to make him feel welcome."

"I shall try my best, sir," the computer replied. "Welcome aboard the Stark 1, Mister Barnes. If you require my assistance, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Uh...thanks." It was the first time Winter had encountered an AI with so much personality. The first time he remembered, anyway.

Steve's grip on Winter's arm tightened for a moment. "JARVIS takes a bit of getting used to," he said softly.

Winter nodded. JARVIS wasn't the only thing that was going to take some getting used to.

o0o

Tony left Steve to show his friend around and get him settled in his cabin while he went to his own cabin to call Pepper. He was a firm believer in asking forgiveness rather than permission, but it was still best to be the one to tell Pepper how exactly he'd spent his money before she had time to find out elsewhere.

"JARVIS, put in a call to Pepper, holo if that's an option." He flopped in his desk chair and shoved both his hands through his hair. Maybe if he looked suitably frazzled she'd take pity on him. Though, that never seemed to work as well now that they were so well and truly broken up that she was formally committed to someone else. Not that Tony was upset about that; in fact, he'd been honoured—and honestly a little choked up—when his longtime friend and bodyguard had asked him to take part in the commitment ceremony. It still seemed a bit strange that he had 'given the groom away' when he was pretty sure he still saw Happy more than Pepper did, but the ceremony had been beautiful. He'd actually been a little worried he might end up giving both the bride and the groom away, but Pepper's aunt Patricia had showed up from gods only knew where to give the bride away, which was inarguably a better option than giving his ex away, even if he was her employer.

And...Happy made her, well, happy. Happier than Tony ever had, all without having to put in half as much effort. Tony had never exactly been ideally suited to monogamy anyway. Still, Tony sometimes missed Pepper's old crush on him for the times it had made conversations like this just a little easier.

"Tony." Pepper's face flickered into being above Tony's desk. "What can I do for you?"

"Pepper." He tried for a charming grin. "Happy sends his love."

"I'm sure he does. He sent it personally just this morning." Tiny flickers of a smirk played around the corners of her mouth as she fixed him with a pointed look. "I assume there's a reason for this call? I do have a company to run."

"Yes, of course, and you do a much better job of it than I ever did." The compliment had the benefit of being entirely true. He didn't expect her to try to deny it, but she didn't even say thank you. Tony told himself that didn't sting at all and continued, "Look, Pepper, before you freak out, I'd ask that you hear me out here."

Sighing, she pressed the fingers of both hands to her forehead. "Tony, what did you do this time?"

He took a breath and tried not to fidget too much. "I want to make it very clear that no matter how bad any of this sounds, I was motivated by helping a friend. And also..." It couldn't hurt to point this out: "_Captain Steve Rogers_ would tell you I did the right thing, so that has to count for something."

o0o

"This will be your room," Steve said, opening the door of a surprisingly spacious, comfortably furnished cabin. He showed Winter the bathroom and kitchenette. "If you need anything...or want anything, let me, Tony, or JARVIS know."

Right, because what Winter wanted was so important to Steve. All Winter really _wanted_ was to solve the puzzle standing right in front of him, and he'd have a better chance at doing that the more time he actually spent in Steve's presence. He'd also have a better chance of actually protecting him if he could be near him. Besides, how the hell could Steve ever hope to bind Winter's loyalty if he let some computer AI take care of him? Every moment he spent with Steve gave Winter the stronger impression that the man was helpless when it came to owning a slave. He took a breath and took a gamble. "I want to stay with you." Steve looked at him with surprise mixed with confusion, so Winter amended, "In your room."

Steve smiled a little awkwardly and nodded, straightening his shoulders. "Sure thing, Buck. Like in the army or when we were kids, right?"

"Yeah." Apparently Bucky had been in the army with Steve as well. That actually seemed to fit somewhat, given Winter's skill-set. He just wished he could remember anything at all about it. "Like that."

Steve's cabin was almost exactly like the one that would have been Winter's, just a bit more lived-in. But not much more. Of course, Winter really had no idea how long Steve had lived in it or if he had a more permanent home, but the impression was still one of spartan utility, perhaps made even stronger by the opulent nature of the ship itself.

"There's only the one bed..." Steve began.

But Winter interrupted him, "I can sleep on the floor." The floor was clean and carpeted, so it would be far more comfortable than the floor of the cage—but gods, a good slave really shouldn't interrupt. Winter had only ever been good at following orders, though, and Steve wasn't giving him any. He ducked his head. "Sorry." He hoped Steve didn't expect to be called 'Master' yet.

"No, hey, the floor's not bad." Now that they were inside Steve's cabin with the door closed behind them, he'd finally let go of Winter's arm. "I find the bed's too soft sometimes—but Bucky, you're welcome on the bed too." He smiled reassuringly. "And if you'd rather have it to yourself, just let me know, because as I said, I don't mind the floor."

Winter stared at him, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes slightly. As if he'd ever tell his owner to sleep on the floor. He shook his head. Maybe...maybe honesty would be useful here. "I want..." He swallowed and let his eyes go wide and damp as he met Steve's gaze. "I just want to be near you."

o0o

"So, you're not angry with me?" Tony swivelled back and forth slightly in his chair, studying Pepper's holographic expression.

She shook her head, smiling a little. "I'm not. How could I be angry?"

He shrugged. Usually, Pepper found a way.

She shook her head again. "Well anyway, I'm _not_, so relax. Will you be heading back to the Tower now?"

"That was the plan." Tony nodded. "Well, the new plan, but...you know. Need to get Banner to take a good long look at Barnes. I'll check him over for trackers and such myself here, but we'll need the real lab to do it properly. And to make sure he's...well, as healthy as a man with a mechanical arm who's been living off of wallpaper paste in a freaking metal cage for however-the-hell long _can _be." He'd already told Pepper what he was pretty sure the merchant had actually been feeding Barnes, and wallpaper paste didn't exactly exist in this century...or the last one. He was pretty sure it was still a mostly fair comparison.

"Understood." She nodded, warmly professional. "I'll let Doctor Banner know to expect you."

Tony nodded distractedly then looked up, catching her gaze before she could end the call. "And Pepper?"

"Yes, Tony?"

"Tell him I'll need a thorough DNA profile on this Barnes guy—the one I've got and the one from history." This wasn't being paranoid, this was being smart—Tony at least should be aware of what he was dealing with. And Steve would understand the need for blood tests. "Best he's prepared for that."

"Of course."

o0o

"Bucky..." Steve's voice was choked as he pulled Winter into another hug, this one even tighter than the first. "I'm not going to lose you again, you hear? I won't let anyone take you away from me."

Returning the embrace, Winter smirked to himself over Steve's shoulder. This possessive Steve was something he could handle, something he could work with. He let himself tremble slightly and tightened his grip, careful not to grasp too tightly, especially with the metal arm.

"Steve..." Winter pulled back and Steve let him. "There's something you should know." He let his eyes slide away from Steve's face towards where the aquamarine carpet met the contoured metal wall. "The merchant lied; I do have a tracker—one that I know of anyway. It's—I don't know if it's still functional or if it could be reactivated, but..." They'd want to remove it just in case. And he wasn't about to _help_ whatever remained of HYDRA find him, at least not before he figured this Steve thing out. His loyalty had never been to the organization, anyway; it had been to his Master. That's how this whole slave thing worked.

"Oh." Steve didn't sound angry, just...worried, and his eyes on Winter were filled with concern. Somehow, Winter had still expected some level of anger at the admission. "Yeah, Tony will have to help you with that. He's a bit of a mechanical genius...or so he says, anyway." Steve laughed softly. "He knows more than I do is all I know, really."

Winter tried for a tentative smile. "Thanks."

"No problem. Hey..." Steve gave Winter's flesh shoulder a squeeze. "How about you take a shower, and I'll talk to Tony about that tracker thing."

A shower sounded...really nice. A luxury. Maybe it was a reward for his honesty. Maybe Steve just wanted him clean. Maybe it didn't really matter.

Steve showed him how to operate the clothes cleaner in the bathroom, telling him his things would be done in ten minutes, so he may as well spend that long in the shower—he could even shower for longer if he wished—and reminded him of the other two shirts he could choose from if he wanted. Because with Steve, it was always about what Winter wanted.

o0o

Steve was sitting at his desk, having just ended the call to Tony when Bucky reemerged from the bathroom, dressed in the same clothing he'd worn before—though clean now—and towelling his hair. His eyes still held that lost look that tugged roughly at something deep in Steve's chest, made him want to protect Bucky from everyone and everything that could ever hurt him again. Steve smiled softly at his friend. "Feel better?"

"Yeah." Bucky nodded, gaze low as he folded the towel and hung it up. "Much better; thank you." He rubbed a hand across the rough stubble on his chin.

"I forgot to say earlier, but you can shave too if you want. I have a razor you can use." It wasn't technically called a 'razor,' but sometimes it was hard for Steve to remember the new names for everything. And it still removed facial hair, so in his mind it _was_ a razor.

Bucky stared at him then nodded.

"You don't have to," Steve said quickly. "It's up to you; your choice if you want to or not." He sighed, wanting to find and hurt everyone who had taught Bucky his opinions didn't matter, starting with that awful merchant in the marketplace. They were still docked; it would be far too easy to just walk back off the Stark 1... He clenched his jaw until it hurt. Bucky always used to be clean-shaven whenever possible, but that had been his choice. Steve felt sick but forced the words out anyway, "It doesn't matter to me either way."

Bucky gave him a searching look but then nodded again before walking closer. He paused by the desk as though considering, then sat cross-legged on the floor. It was disconcertingly similar to how some people would make slaves kneel at their feet, but Bucky wasn't kneeling, and it certainly wasn't the first time he'd sat on a floor, even while Steve sat in a chair—during the war, there would often only be one chair for their strategy meetings, and everyone had always insisted Steve have it, since he was the commanding officer. Though then, the rest of the Howlers would usually stand so they could all lean over the table to see the maps and such. But after the meetings, Bucky would usually stay, would often have a seat near Steve's chair and they'd talk about random things like songs they liked or the adventures they'd had together as kids until one of them—usually Bucky—decided it was time to sleep. "The tracker's in my arm," Bucky offered. "Behind the red star." He tapped his metal bicep through his shirt.

"Right." Steve rose, tugging his shirt straight out of military habit. "Tony will—we should see if we can get that out before we leave. Tony said to meet him in his lab whenever we're ready." He offered Bucky a hand.

Smiling a little crookedly, Bucky took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet.

o0o

"Yep, that's a tracker all right." Tony had the casing off of Winter's upper arm and was peering through a magnifier into the arm while prodding at the insides with various tools. The magnifier strapped to Tony's head made him look a little like an engineer from one of those old stories about the airships. Steve had insisted that Winter tell them if anything about this procedure hurt, and Tony had agreed that was important and that he didn't want to hurt Winter, but it didn't hurt. It was just...strange to have his arm partially disassembled, here with two men he'd just met. It had been different when his Master had ordered him to sit still and let others work on his arm—it had never been Winter's choice and certainly never been his idea. "The good news is," Tony announced, straightening, "it's not transmitting any kind of signal, at least nothing I can pick up, and Stark Tech is pretty leading edge. But just to be on the safe side, I'm going to want to get it out before we get underway." Picking up a different tool, Tony leaned in to poke at Winter's arm again. "No point inviting Maleficent to the christening, not if we can avoid it."

Steve was sitting in a chair opposite where Winter sat on Tony's workbench, his eyes filled with concern as he visibly tried to keep himself still—he seemed like the type who'd rather be pacing—while watching Winter and Tony closely. With his old Master it would have been to ensure Winter obeyed, but with Steve...he probably just wanted to be sure Tony didn't hurt him.

And how was it that Winter...that Winter _trusted_ Steve so, already? He seemed so sincere, so unselfish. But no one was that good, that honest and pure.

Winter needed to be careful. No matter how adorable, how intensely _genuine_ Steve seemed, he'd only just met him. He had no damned reason to trust a man he'd just met, no damned reason to believe he knew him or understood him, even if he did remember him for reasons he didn't remember—perhaps especially because of that. Winter's flesh hand tightened against his thigh. His shoulders were a wall of tension from his metal shoulder to his flesh one.

"Bucky?" Steve regarded him searchingly, as though unsure if he should be alarmed. "Did something hurt? Are you in pain?"

Winter shook his head sharply, trying to calm his breathing.

To his left, Tony made a soft questioning sound. "I just need you to hold still for this bit—can you do that?"

Winter nodded and focused on being still.

A quick tug and then Tony said, "I think that's it." He held up his pliers, pinching the bit of circuitry. "I'll take care of this thing, then; thank you for your cooperation, Barnes." He put the rest of Winter's arm back together, chattering about how it was an intriguing design. "I'd love the chance to do some tweaking, maybe a few upgrades once I get back to my real lab. For now, you two go play." He gave Winter a companionable pat on his metal bicep then shooed them both out of the lab.

"Here." Steve held out Winter's shirt.

He'd forgotten it on the bench—had become so used to not actually having a shirt—but Steve had remembered it...Steve seemed so _thoughtful_, so _attentive_, so _kind_. Winter almost wished he could just relax and let Steve take care of him—because that was what Masters did for their slaves, even if Steve was doing it entirely wrong. If Winter could just stop second-guessing every single thing either of them did, that would be so much easier. He took the shirt. "Thanks." He pulled it on, because really, Steve might not use the right words, but he'd clearly wanted Winter to put on the shirt. It counted as an order.

"We should—are you hungry?" Steve's fingers twitched at his side, and Winter wondered if he wanted to take his arm again but was holding himself back for some reason. "I'll show you where the galley and mess are."

Winter nodded. He was in fact hungry; the meat Tony had given him earlier being the first food he'd had since the previous night. He was also tired, bordering on exhausted, but sleep could wait. He let Steve lead him through the ship's corridors, staying close to Steve but never quite touching him.

The galley and mess when they arrived were at least as impressive as the rest of the ship. The appliances were sleek and modern and the mess itself would fit in smoothly as the dining room of an upscale restaurant or hotel on any of the core worlds, though perhaps it would have to be a very exclusive lounge due its small size.

A dark skinned man with close cropped black hair looked up from putting his dishes in the cleaner and gave Steve and Winter a friendly smile. "Hey. I'm Rhodey." He offered Winter his hand. "You must be Bucky Barnes."

Yeah, must be... Winter glanced sideways at Steve for an instant before accepting the handshake and saying, "Yeah."

"You two actually have the same first name," Steve pointed out then smiled awkwardly and added, "James."

Rhodey smiled easily. "Good thing neither of us actually goes by it, hey? That could get confusing."

"Uh, yeah." Winter glanced at Steve again, but Steve just gave him an encouraging smile. He wasn't used to people wanting to _talk_ to him, or especially wanting him to talk _back_.

"Well anyway, it was nice meeting you." Rhodey nodded in his direction. "I'd love to stay and chat, but duty calls." Rhodey gave Steve a jaunty salute and left.

The chairs looked inviting—no doubt they were quite comfortable—but Winter remained standing and listened attentively as Steve showed him around, explaining where everything was kept.

"Do you want one?" Steve held the drawer open, showing off the apples and oranges inside. Not just actual fresh produce, but _two different kinds_. The galley was also stocked with raw potatoes, onions, and cabbage—Steve had apologized for the current lack of carrots, because of course the Stark 1 would usually have fresh carrots aboard—but potatoes, onions, and cabbage were generally eaten cooked. Apples and oranges could just be...eaten.

Winter nodded, because of course he _wanted_ one, but didn't move to reach for the fruit.

Steve sighed, smiling. "Apple or orange?"

As if it _mattered_. Winter didn't remember having eaten fresh fruit _ever_. Most people seemed to agree such things were delicious. But Winter was taking too long to reply, and Steve was starting to look worried, so Winter finally blurted out, "Apple," only because 'a' came before 'o' in the alphabet.

o0o

Tony sat, feet resting on his coffee table, as he slowly sipped his drink. It wasn't the best Scotch, but it wasn't the worst either. And if Tony hadn't already sampled the worst Scotch in the galaxy, he felt deeply sorry for anyone who had.

Still, he couldn't help smirking at the thought.

Happy and Rhodey were getting them underway—not that JARVIS couldn't have done it alone, but they always insisted on this sort of 'human in the loop' stuff—now that the tracker was safely disassembled into its most base and non-threatening components, and Tony had given them the go-ahead. He might have called it an 'order' but for all that they both technically worked for him, both seemed to think they knew better than he did about basically everything. Which might be sorta true. In any case, things just ran smoother if he treated them as equals.

At least his staff had taken the new guest in stride. But then, mentioning Captain Rogers just seemed to have that effect on most people. Even Pepper. Shaking his head, Tony grinned crookedly to himself. Who knew, 'I bought a slave today, but I bought him for Captain Rogers, so that makes it okay, right?' would have gone over so well. Which obviously wasn't what he'd actually _said_, but it's essentially what had happened.

"Sir." JARVIS' voice cut through the quiet in Tony's cabin. "A call from Ms Potts."

Interesting timing that. "Holo?"

"Yes, sir."

Tony grimaced slightly as he swallowed a sip of Scotch, nodding. "Bring it up."

Pepper's face appeared above the coffee table this time, because that's where he was sitting. "Tony."

"Pepper." Tony leaned forward, rolling his glass between his palms. "Has something come up?" It hadn't been _that_ long since they'd last spoken. Just a couple of hours, really.

"Something I thought you should be aware of, yes." She tucked a loose lock of her reddish-blonde hair behind her ear. "We've had some new arrivals."

"Oh really?" It wasn't too strange for new faces to show up at the Tower, especially now in the wake of the war, but there was always risks there too, when no one really knew who they could trust. Even those loyal to SHIELD could be a risk if they believed himself or any of his associates to be HYDRA. Not that Tony could be one-hundred percent sure none of his associates _were__n't_ in fact HYDRA, but he tried to be optimistic about these things. "Anyone we know?"

"Maria Hill, for one." Pepper's eyes moved, no doubt tracking a list he couldn't see. "She brought the rest with her: a biochemist named Jemma Simmons, a nurse named Sharon Carter, and Sharon Carter's niece, Shannon Carter—she's a student."

"Hill and Carter are on Steve's list." Steve had given them a list, a depressingly _short_ list, of people he was pretty sure they could trust, people who probably—most likely—weren't HYDRA. Maybe Steve wasn't the best judge of that sort of thing, but who was, really? And it was better to have a starting point, to have something. Better than nothing, anyway. "I'm sure Bruce would really appreciate Simmons' and Carter's help, assuming they're looking for work. Were they just visiting or looking to stay for a while?"

"I got the definite impression they all mean to stay," Pepper replied, "and Hill offered her services in security."

Tony nodded. That made sense, and while they weren't exactly quite as dangerously lacking in that area as medical—or at least, they didn't seem to be, but security was harder to judge, since you never knew how short-staffed you were until you were facing an actual attack...well, her help would definitely be appreciated. "Just so long as she realizes Happy's in charge, and that we're not SHIELD, and all that."

Pepper gave him one of the smiles she favoured when he was trying to do her job again.

He rolled his eyes, sitting back and rubbing his hand over his goatee. "I'm just...agreeing—out loud—with what I already know you're thinking." He looked down, chuckling softly. Meeting her gaze once again, he added in cocky mock-seriousness, "I can always overrule you if I want, you know, whenever I want. My company and all." He took a sip of his Scotch just because he could.

"Well," she replied, her smile perfectly pleasant, "you can always try."

He snorted. "I wouldn't have made you CEO if I didn't trust your judgement." He tapped his fingers against the side of his glass. "About this biochemist, too. If you and Banner—and I guess Hill too—think she's okay, then I have no objections."

Pepper looked down for a moment then looked back up, taking a breath. "I'd love to say I have a good sense of who to trust, but after this whole HYDRA thing, I suppose we all learned about how unreliable our instincts can be. I know Steve and Natasha were especially shook up about Sitwell, even if Natasha would never admit it. But if I _could_ still trust my instincts, I'd trust Simmons in a heartbeat."

Tony raised his glass and cocked an eyebrow at her. "That's good enough for me."

o0o

**Notes on characters and canon:**

**Pepper's aunt Patricia takes her name from Patricia Potts of Earth-904913.**

**Jemma Simmons is of course the same Jemma Simmons seen on 'Agents of SHIELD.'**

**Shannon Carter, aka "American Dream," has yet to appear in the MCU and is based primarily on her Earth-982 appearance.**

o0o


	3. Glass Coffins

o0o

**Chapter 3: Glass Coffins**

Winter slowly ate his apple while Steve cooked. The apple was, in fact, delicious, and he found himself wanting to savour it—maybe this was a reward for being good while Tony removed the tracker. The smells of cooking meat and onions prickled at his nose and tickled the corners of his eyes. Steve had told him to sit, so he sat where he could see Steve through the galley doorway. The chairs were just as comfortable as he'd expected, perhaps more so.

As he watched Steve move about the galley, Winter's vision clouded, his eyes unfocusing, and the scene shifted with the gentle lurching sensation of an elevator decelerating. Winter's metal fingers clenched involuntarily on the edge of the table. And there was Steve, somehow he still knew it was Steve, though he was small—short, thin, frail—turning to smile bashfully over his shoulder while stirring a pot on a battered stove with one narrow hand, one narrow arm. The walls behind him were grey and stained with smoke, and the beige shirt on Steve's thin back was worn and faded. That was all there was—such a brief flash, but it felt like a memory.

"You were smaller." The words were out of Winter's mouth before he could think them, before he could remind himself of all the reasons he should always think before speaking.

Steve looked at him, slowly setting down the spatula. "I was," he agreed. Stepping through the doorway between the galley and the mess, Steve regarded him with concern swirling in his eyes. "You okay? I mean, you kinda look like..."

Like he'd seen a ghost? He felt as though he had. "I'm sorry, I—" Winter set the apple core down on the edge of the table and rubbed his fingers against his pant-leg. "I think I was remembering..."

"Okay." Steve nodded, still looking unsure while rocking his weight slightly from one foot to the other.

Winter sighed, looking at his metal hand where it rested curled into a loose fist on the surface of the table. "There are...gaps," he admitted. "There's a lot I don't remember." He looked back up, meeting Steve's eyes. "Just now, I was remembering you. All I really remember is you."

Steve walked over, closing the distance in a few quick strides. He sat down facing Winter and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "I'm sorry, Buck. I wish I could—" He ducked his head and shook it, then looked back up at Winter. "That there was something I could do."

"It's all right. I think just being with you helps." Winter offered him a smile with more confidence than he actually felt. "And there are worse things someone could remember."

"Yeah." Steve smiled, bashful like in the memory—the same expression on an altered face. "I suppose there are."

Gods, Steve was beautiful. Especially when he smiled, especially like that. Winter was reminded again of the ancient lighthouse on the cliff, guiding the ships home. "I..." He should have said it earlier, but now was better than never. "It's good to see you again, Steve."

Steve smiled again, all inviting warmth and little crinkles around his eyes. "Yeah." He turned his head, looking towards the galley. "I should get back to the food before it burns." Rising, he clapped Winter companionably on the arm. "And don't forget to toss that apple core into the composter." He pointed to the bin beside the dish cleaner.

Nodding, Winter got up and disposed of his apple core while Steve headed back to the stove. That was another order he'd managed to follow. It felt...right. Perhaps more right than following his old Master's orders had, though at least his old Master had been clear with his orders so Winter was never confused about what he was supposed to do. But maybe this way was more of a challenge, so it meant more when Winter managed to get it right? And so far, Steve hadn't punished him.

As he sat back down in the chair, he pondered morosely the prospect of Steve punishing him. He'd never liked being punished, of course—who would?—but he imagined it would somehow hurt more if it were Steve.

o0o

"Something wrong with the food?" Steve asked softly. Bucky had only taken maybe five bites and was mostly just pushing the food around his plate with his fork. He remembered Bucky being partial to chicken, and it tasted fine to Steve...

Bucky met his gaze, eyes wide. "N-no." His metal hand tightened into a fist against his thigh. "It's really...it's really good." His gaze dropped back to his plate and his shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry."

"Buck, you remember back when I was sick all the time, and sometimes I wouldn't want to eat, but you'd annoy me until I did? I was a stubborn little punk, but even I knew you were right. Do I have to turn that around here?" Steve tried for a playful smile. He wasn't sure he could carry through with the threat, though. And that was a disturbing thought, because how could his desire for his friend to be _happy_ outweigh his desire for him to be _healthy_? What kind of twisted sequence of priorities was _that_? He sighed then reached out and placed his hand gently on Bucky's wrist, stilling it from pushing the food around his plate again. "Please, Bucky; I need you to eat."

Exhaling, Bucky straightened up and began to eat steadily with no sign of his earlier mood. Steve frowned slightly. That had been much easier than he'd anticipated. It was almost as if...there was a switch, and Steve had inadvertently pressed it. He tried not to worry about it, though, and focused on finishing his own food.

When they'd both cleared their dishes away, they walked back to Steve's cabin together. Steve found a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that looked like they should fit Bucky. They were so close to the same size now, which still felt a bit strange—before the supersoldier serum, they could never have worn each other's clothes unless maybe Steve had wanted to be swallowed whole by one of Bucky's shirts like Jonah being swallowed by the whale. He handed the clothes to Bucky and told him to go ahead and get ready for bed. "I'm going to take a quick shower." He felt like he needed one more than usual after the day he'd had.

o0o

Winter quickly changed into the clothes Steve had given him. For once, Steve hadn't tried to make Winter choose anything and had just told him what to wear. That was how things should be, and he felt some of the tension bleed from his shoulders like pus from a lanced blister. Steve had also ordered him to eat, even if he had—again—used different words than Winter was accustomed to for orders. The order had helped. Winter neatly folded his clothes and put them on the shelf next to the other shirts Steve had got for him in the market.

He put his boots in the corner, out of the way. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he curled his toes into the carpet and waited for Steve to be done in the shower. The bed looked and felt so comfortable, and if he'd been tired before dinner, he was downright _sleepy_ now, in addition to being exhausted, as the food in his belly lulled his body into a sense of safety. There were far too many unknowns for him to be truly safe—if anyone could ever be 'truly' safe—but he was clean and fed and the most dangerous person on board the ship seemed to want nothing more than to protect him. As much as he wanted to, though, he couldn't just lie down and sleep—Steve had said he was allowed, but that was just in general. Steve might have further orders for him; he'd said to get ready for bed, not to go to bed. Winter's eyelids threatened to close, drawn as though by artificial gravity and false security, but he jerked his body more upright, forcing his eyes to stay open.

Somehow, Winter had missed hearing the water stop running in the shower, because Steve was walking out of the bathroom dressed nearly identically to Winter in sweatpants and a white t-shirt. The only major difference was that Steve's pants were dark blue while Winter's were pale grey.

Though of course, both pairs of pants were Steve's. And Winter himself was Steve's.

"You look tired," Steve commented, concern painted in gentle strokes across his face as he walked closer.

It wouldn't do any good to try to lie, so Winter just nodded.

Stopping as he reached the bed, Steve gave him an apologetic smile. "You didn't have to wait up for me."

Winter just stared at him. Steve had barely been in the bathroom ten minutes. He considered briefly if it would be better to sound more tentative or more confident, finally settling on confidence. "I wanted to."

The immediate flash of approval and affection in Steve's eyes was more than enough confirmation that it had been the right response. "Well, I think we're both about ready to sleep now. Which side of the bed do you want?"

Winter was really too tired for these _decisions_. He suppressed the urge to growl, groan, or whine, and pondered the question. Closer to the wall would mean Steve could get in and out of the bed without Winter being a potential obstacle, but closer to the door felt more protective—if some threat were to barge through the door with intent to harm Steve, Winter would already be between him and the threat. Though, closer to the wall would perhaps help Steve feel as though he were protecting Winter—something Steve did seem to want—while closer to the door might be taken as a sign that Winter wanted to escape. He neither wanted nor wanted Steve to think he wanted to escape. And he could likely protect Steve nearly as well from either side of the bed. The best position would undoubtedly be just inside the door, but Steve had made it clear he did not want his slave sleeping on the floor. "The back," he said finally, "by the wall."

As they climbed into bed, Steve told JARVIS to kill the lights. The pillow was enticingly, indulgently soft under Winter's head.

Though the bed was nearly large enough for them both to lie flat on their backs without touching, Steve rolled onto his side to face Winter and laid one hand on Winter's arm. "G'night, Bucky."

o0o

Sometime during the night, Steve stirred partly awake in the darkness of his cabin. The bed was soft as ever, but warmer...in the most pleasant way a bed could be warm: Bucky was here...beside him. Wondrously, miraculously alive. Steve could barely make out the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, but the soft sounds of his breaths—in and out, in and out—were a calming lullaby. Running his hand sleepily down Bucky's arm, Steve encircled Bucky's wrist with gentle fingers, finding his pulse where it beat proudly like a marching rhythm beneath the skin.

Exhaling contentedly, Steve shifted closer, pressing his forehead against Bucky's bicep and inhaling that welcome scent—familiar even after so much change and so many years apart.

He drifted back to sleep while half-formed prayers of heartfelt thanks swirled blissfully in his head.

o0o

Winter awoke, lurching unevenly into consciousness as the unexpected warmth and unnerving softness of the bed fought doggedly to keep him asleep, pulling at his body with dusky phantom fingers. He suddenly felt as though he was drowning, as though darkness and cold were closing over his head and filling his nose and lungs. Without conscious thought or choice, he found himself in a crouch, back pressed to the wall, gasping and rubbing at his throat with his flesh hand as he blinked in an attempt to clear his vision.

"Bucky?" Steve...that was Steve, and this was Steve's bed. Winter knew Steve somehow; Steve was important. Steve rubbed at his eyes as he slowly sat up. Shit. In his panic, Winter had pulled the blankets off Steve and woken him up.

"Sorry." Oh, gods, Steve was Winter's new owner. He should have damn well remembered that. And 'Bucky' was...the name Steve called Winter, even if he hadn't yet given it to him properly. He should have remembered that too. His metal hand tightened into a fist against his thigh as he ran his shaky flesh hand through his hair. Dropping his gaze, Winter shifted into a kneel with his head bowed. "Sorry, Steve."

"Sorry for what?" Steve's voice still sounded sleepy, confused.

"I woke you." Keeping his eyes down, Winter couldn't properly gauge Steve's reactions, but eye contact was too risky when he already deserved a punishment.

"Hey." Steve shifted closer on the bed. "It's all right, Bucky."

Before he could stop them, Winter's eyes shot up to look at Steve's face. Was Steve really not going to punish him? He dropped his gaze and almost said, 'Sorry,' again, then wasn't sure why he'd stopped himself.

"Bucky." Steve's voice was firm with just a hint of begging lurking beneath the surface, the fleeting shadow of some unknown creature. "Please look at me."

Raising his head, Winter obeyed. Even roused so unexpectedly from sleep, Steve still looked so kind, so gentle. The incongruity of that expression being worn by such an undeniably dangerous being pressed against the back of Winter's mind like shatter-sharp scraps of ice, and he was unable to suppress a shiver.

"Are you cold?" Steve was worried. Of course he was. "I could have JARVIS turn up the heat."

Winter shook his head. The temperature in the room was fine. The heart hammering in his chest just needed to catch up with the idea that Steve was—_probably_—not going to punish his slave. Even when he had every reason and right.

"You woke up pretty suddenly." Steve regarded him, thoughtful. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Winter didn't remember if he'd had a nightmare; he didn't remember if he'd dreamed at all, but he nodded once and it didn't feel like a lie.

"C'mere." Steve reached for him, lips tilted up at one side.

Winter crawled forward into the hug, wrapping his arms around Steve's broad back and pressing his face into the crook of Steve's impressively muscled neck. Maybe it was the order or maybe it was the soothing touch, but Winter found he could relax, if only a little. And if Steve didn't realize he should punish Winter for waking him, Winter probably shouldn't suggest it. He sighed, resting some of his weight against Steve's sturdy frame. "Thank you."

Pulling back to look him in the eye, Steve grinned. "Don't mention it; you'd always help me when I had nightmares." Then something changed in Steve's gaze and his eyes slid away.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here." Because Steve would have had nightmares after losing his friend. The realization twisted in Winter's gut, cold as the blackness between the stars.

Steve was shaking his head, blinking bravely against the tears in his eyes. Such a good soldier. "I'm just glad you're here _now_."

Winter didn't like thinking of Steve being sad, of Steve waking up alone and having to comfort himself after his nightmares. He was suddenly all the more glad he had insisted on staying in Steve's room. "I want to protect you," he said, because Steve always wanted to know what he wanted.

Steve's smile was warm as autumn sun on ripening wheat. "We'll protect each other. All right?"

Winter nodded, returning Steve's smile. Protecting Steve had been his plan all along, but now it was an order.

He wondered what other orders he might manage to get Steve to give him.

o0o

"The hash browns are great, Happy." Tony raised his glass of orange juice to his friend in appreciation. "Just the right amount of golden-brown."

Happy gave him a wry smile, swallowing a sip of his own juice. "Pepper's trained me well is all I can say."

Tony was about to say something...clever, he was sure it was going to be clever, when Steve and his mechanical-armed friend walked into the mess and completely interrupted his train of thought. "Good morning, sleepyheads! Hope you're hungry, because Happy made enough eggs to feed an army." Which was probably a mild exaggeration, but... Those two were just kind of desperately, _disgustingly_ happy together in a way that was confusing the more witty parts of Tony's brain. And not that it was any of his business—not at all—but Tony hadn't missed the fact that while Barnes did have a cabin officially assigned to him, no one had actually slept there. It was Tony's ship—and it was important not to forget that Barnes was a dangerous unknown who it seemed _very_ likely had some connection to HYDRA even if he had in fact been a slave owned by a HYDRA operative rather than a willing operative himself. So it wasn't weird at all for Tony to keep tabs on things like where the guy slept. It wasn't stalking and it wasn't pervy. Shut up.

But if Steve was happy, that was a _good_ thing. Even if he did still look at Barnes like he was terrified he'd melt away.

"You're staring," Rhodey said, elbowing Tony in the ribs as the new arrivals found places at the table with plates piled up to resemble small mountains.

"What?" Blinking, Tony turned to look at his friend. "Sorry; I was lost in thought."

Rhodey shook his head, mockery flashing in his eyes. "Yeah, I could tell."

Tony gestured vaguely, encompassing both Steve and his massive pile of eggs and potatoes. "I just wish _I_ could eat that much food and still look like Hercules." Not that Tony ever looked like Hercules, but that wasn't the point. That supersoldier serum...too bad no one had yet been successful at duplicating the formula. Leaning closer to inspect Steve's plate, Tony added, "I guess you like sausage." In Tony's defence, Steve _had_ piled at least six sausages on top of everything else, but Tony couldn't suppress his own childish giggling then, not with the looks Happy and Rhodey were shooting him. Or the look of blank confusion Steve was giving him in response to the laughter. "Sorry." Tony finally managed to compose himself, wiping at his eyes. "I mean, obviously, we all like sausage." They _were_ all eating it, after all. And that didn't need to be an innuendo, but apparently Tony was still twelve. "As you may have noticed, the Stark 1 is currently a bit of a sausage fest anyway. Not that there's anything wrong with that." It was impressive, really, that Tony could say that with a—_mostly_—straight face. At least he wasn't giggling anymore.

Rhodey rolled his eyes, kicking Tony under the table, then turned his attention to Barnes with the definite air of changing the subject. "Barnes, I don't know if you've met Happy?"

"We haven't yet had the pleasure." Happy gave Barnes a nod and a friendly smile. "I'm Happy Hogan, Stark's head of security."

Tony should have been making the introductions himself, but he'd been too busy making juvenile jokes.

Barnes shot Steve a quick look before nodding to Happy. After a pause that stretched just long enough to become slightly awkward, he said, "It's nice to meet you."

"I'm honoured to meet you, really." Happy set his fork down on the side of his plate and leaned forward in his chair. "I would have never thought I'd meet Captain Rogers—I suppose no one did, uh, obviously—but now Sergeant Barnes as well?" He glanced down at his plate then looked back up, grinning apologetically. "But I'm sure you'd rather I kept my fanboy side in check."

"Yeah," Rhodey cut in helpfully, "we wouldn't want this conversation to get _weird_ or anything."

Turning towards him, Tony cocked one eyebrow, but Rhodey pointedly ignored him. And okay, yeah, Tony kind of deserved that.

o0o

"Apple or orange?" Steve looked up at Winter from where he stood at the open drawer in the galley. Steve had shown Winter around the Stark 1 and then they'd spent some time lifting weights in the gym. Now, Steve said it was lunchtime. It seemed his new owner really did mean to feed him well. And often.

But he was supposed to be making a choice, so, "Orange."

Steve tossed him the orange and Winter caught it easily in his metal hand. Steve grinned. "Good catch." As if that hadn't been the easiest throw _ever_.

Winter returned Steve's grin, turning the orange over in his hands. He wasn't actually sure how to eat one—the apple had been obvious, but the orange was...less so. He sighed, swallowed whatever sad, pathetic thing he had that passed for pride, and asked, "Have I eaten one of these before?"

Steve cocked his head slightly to one side. "Well, not _often_ that I know of, but we used to have them at Christmas sometimes, so yes."

Winter honestly wished he could remember. It might be...nice to remember Christmas. He offered Steve a sheepish smile, scratching at the back of his head with his flesh hand. "I don't actually remember how..."

He wasn't sure what he'd expected as Steve's reaction, but Steve just took the orange, told him to have a seat in the mess, sat next to him, and showed him how to remove the peel, then offered him the orange again once it was ready to eat.

Winter meant to say, 'Thanks,' but the sharp, vibrant smell of the orange's peel prickling in his nose made his vision blur, and he saw broken nutshells piled on the corner of a low table and tasted the sticky sweetness of cheap chocolate in his mouth. Steve—small, thin Steve—was offering him half of an orange and saying, 'I can't eat the whole thing, Bucky.' A lopsided smile. 'Wouldn't want to let it go to waste.'

Winter blinked as his vision refocused on the present: the tall, muscular man offering a whole orange. "We only had the one orange," Winter said softly. "I should have made you eat the whole thing." Steve had been sick, had needed it so much more.

"You remember that?" Steve's smile was all brilliant sweetness, like better chocolate than they'd been able to afford.

Winter nodded. "We had peanuts and chocolate, and you made me eat half the orange."

"Oranges were expensive." Looking down at the orange on the table, Steve picked at a bit of the white stuff that still clung to the fruit. "Harder to transport."

That made sense. Fresh produce was always more expensive, more so the farther out you got. "You should have eaten the whole orange."

Steve shook his head, smiling softly. "I really couldn't."

Winter stared at him. "Have you always been..." What was it about Steve that made him blurt things out without thinking?

Steve tilted his head, leaning forward in his seat. "Been what?"

"Impossible." Because how the hell could anyone be..._Steve_?

Laughing, Steve shrugged. "You have called me that...among other things."

"What other things?" Maybe this is how he used to talk to Steve—easily, without having to think everything through carefully—when neither of them had been a slave.

Steve grinned wryly, looking down. "Stubborn, foolhardy...stupid." He looked up again, meeting Winter's eyes. "You had quite a list."

Steve, _this_ Steve, at least looked like he could—probably—take care of himself in a fight. But the one from his brief flashes of memory was so fragile, so frail. Bucky must have _hated_ stupid, foolhardy, stubborn Steve for making him love him until he cared—until he couldn't _stop_ caring—and then insisting on doing stupid, foolhardy, stubborn things. Shaking his head again in an attempt to clear it, Winter reached for the orange. "Thanks."

"Hey, no problem." Steve stood up, gesturing towards the galley. "I should really get to work on lunch before it's supper time."

Winter nodded, giving him a small smile as he started to eat the orange.

It turned out oranges tasted even better than apples, but the taste wasn't as much of a shock as it was a memory—fresh and sweet and acid against his tongue—brought back to life like Snow White from her glass coffin.

o0o

Steve had to admit he was out of his depth. Completely, desperately, hopelessly lost when it came to Bucky. He wished, not for the first time, that Sam was here. Because there weren't exactly counsellors who specialized in helping amnesiac assassin slaves, but Sam at least had some training and experience in an area that was at least _tangentially_ related to what Bucky needed.

Steve thanked God he had not in fact had a panic attack when Bucky had woken from a nightmare and _kneeled_ to him, even if the main reason he'd managed to stay calm was simply that he hadn't been quite awake enough to fully appreciate what was happening.

But for all that Steve had no idea what he was doing, Bucky seemed to be doing okay. Or at least, doing better? He was clean and eating well, and despite the sudden early morning waking, he had slept more that night than they'd gotten many nights during the war. He was relaxing, getting used to life aboard the Stark 1, and even remembering more.

And he was _alive_. That was more important than anything. Closing his eyes as he tightened his grip on the cool metal railing in front of the observation window where he and Bucky were watching the stars go past, Steve thought, 'Thank you; thank you for giving him back to me.'

It was something he'd stopped asking for after those first few weeks, after everyone had repeatedly—though kindly, though gently—told him just to accept his friend's death and move on. 'We never saw a body,' Steve had said, voice even despite the angry burning behind his eyes and the crushing tightness in his chest. 'That makes it harder; I know,' Howard had replied, sighing, rubbing his forehead, eyes and voice awash with pity, 'but no one could survive that, Steve.' The days of walking on water, of walking whole from the fiery furnace, of shaking off venomous snakebites and walking back out of tombs were long gone.

And maybe those stories were never meant to be literal, anyway.

But when Steve turned to look, there Bucky was beside him. Confused and undoubtedly changed, brushing too-long hair out of his face with the metal hand that had replaced the natural one Steve had known. But it was still _him_—not entirely whole, but still walking, having survived the fiery furnace after all.

o0o

**So...for anyone who might be wondering why the heck this fic is even rated M anyway, the next chapter is where it starts to earn that rating. (Though probably not exactly in the way you might want...)**

o0o


	4. Punishment

o0o

**Chapter 4: Punishment**

"Steve," Winter said, looking up and grinning as his owner came out of the bathroom surrounded by warm, damp air that smelled of soap. Steve's freshly-washed hair stood on end, several shades darker than it was dry. Winter didn't even have to force the smile; it came naturally. He was slowly coming to the realization that Steve was the best damn person in the whole damned galaxy, better than any human had a right to be. Steve wasn't even a bad owner for all he exasperated Winter with his obvious lack of knowledge of how this whole slavery thing worked—he was kind and gentle and generous, and how could a slave complain about those qualities in the person who possessed him? But he really was so damn hesitant to give actual orders, and that left Winter adrift and purposeless more often than not. That Steve had wanted him and still did want him was clear—but other than taking better care of him than most parents did for their children, he didn't seem to know what to do with his slave.

"Waitin' up for me again, Bucky?" Steve's lopsided smile was fond as he approached, reaching out to gently ruffle Winter's hair.

"Yeah." Winter leaned into the touch, letting his eyelids fall shut in contentment. Steve's desire to touch Winter was something best encouraged, after all. And godsdamnit if it didn't feel good. If Steve would only ask Winter to pleasure him, that would doubtless feel good too—for both of them.

Steve chuckled, moving his hand away and sitting down on the bed next to Winter.

Winter turned to look at him, unsure why Steve would laugh. "What?"

"Sorry." Steve shook his head, looking down at the carpet. "I just...I keep expecting..." Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly as he leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees.

After a pause long enough that it became clear Steve wasn't going to continue, Winter touched Steve's arm tentatively with the fingers of his flesh hand. "Expecting what?" Was there something he should be doing differently? Something Steve wanted from him?

Glancing back at him, Steve shrugged. "Back before...you probably would have knocked my hand away, told me to get lost. I just—I keep expecting that: for you to act like you used to." He held one of his large hands loosely inside the other and ducked his head. "I look at you and I keep forgetting how much time has passed and how much has changed."

How could Winter hope to act like Bucky when he had only the very faintest idea of how Bucky had acted? If that's what Steve wanted...it would take a lot of retraining, the sort of retraining Steve seemed entirely unwilling to actually _do_. At the very least, though, Steve could explain what he wanted. "Tell me what to do."

Turning towards Winter, Steve shot him a confused, incredulous grin. "I'm not actually your CO anymore, Buck—that's not my job."

Damn it _all_. It _was_ Steve's job. Obviously. Winter rubbed his flesh thumb—twitchy and jittery—across the back of his metal hand. "You're my owner." Could even be his Master, if only he'd try. It wouldn't take much, but Steve still had to do _something_. Winter suppressed the urge to roll his eyes—no doubt Steve hadn't even looked at those pamphlets the merchant had tried to give him. Just let Tony stuff them in a drawer somewhere or even throw them out.

Steve's eyebrows drew together. "Bucky, you're my _friend_; I'm not going to treat you like a slave."

Winter turned his head and stared down at his clasped hands, tightening his grip and hunching his shoulders. He _was_ a slave, though. That was the only thing he knew _how_ to be. He didn't know how to be Bucky and he didn't know how to be a friend. He was failing at everything Steve wanted, everything Steve expected.

And still, Steve wouldn't punish him. And as much as Winter disliked the idea himself, it was necessary.

"Bucky?" Steve interrupted Winter's thoughts, laying a warm hand on his flesh arm. And...that was one thing Steve wanted that Winter could be sure of: Steve wanted to touch him. Wanted to more than he actually did it sometimes, which was confusing, but...Steve was the best and most infuriating human being the in whole damn universe: the purest, the kindest, the most stubbornly, stupidly self-sacrificing. He would probably never even _ask_ for what he wanted. Because gods forbid Steve Rogers ever want anything for himself. And for all Winter knew, they might have been lovers before—he didn't quite have enough memories to tell, but...Steve felt important. Had always felt important. More important than anything ever had, than he'd thought anything ever could. And it would explain why he was the only thing Winter remembered, wouldn't it?

Turning toward Steve, Winter looked into his eyes, searching. He saw confusion and concern and something that might be aching desperation. It was good enough. Right from that first meeting in the marketplace, everything with Steve had been a gamble, so why stop now? Carefully—because, gods, Steve was still his owner no matter how he chose to act—Winter slid his flesh hand to the back of Steve's neck, watching as confusion swirled more powerfully in those amazing blue eyes. There had never been eyes so flawless in the history of the universe, or a shade of blue more worthy of poem or song. Pulling Steve forward to meet him, Winter leaned in and kissed him. It was a tender kiss, soft and hesitant, but filled with all the warmth Winter could muster—sweet, like marshmallows melting in hot cocoa.

Steve, however, was worryingly still; he didn't move, didn't return the kiss, hardly even seemed to be breathing. Winter was about to pull back—to see if Steve was all right, to apologize—when Steve himself pulled back. "Bucky what—" Steve swallowed, blinking. "What are you doing?"

Winter blinked as well, trying to decide how to respond. Steve didn't seem angry, just...clearly surprised and even more confused than before. The theory that they'd been lovers before seemed less likely, since Steve may very well have never been kissed before by _anyone_. That didn't, however, discount the possibility that Bucky had been in love with Steve. In fact, that seemed more likely now than ever, because the tops of Steve's cheeks were pink as though roughly kissed by the sun, and Winter found himself jealous of any sun that had ever made Steve's cheeks that colour. Finally he said, "I want to make you happy," because it was absolutely _true_, and what Winter wanted had always been important to Steve.

But Steve pulled back further, eyes sliding away and down as he turned away, his shoulders hunching. "No, Buck—you don't—that's not—" Steve ran one hand roughly over his face. "You don't have to do that."

Intellectually, Winter had been aware that Steve might reject him. It _had_ been a gamble, after all. He just hadn't expected it to hurt this much. Hadn't even considered how it might feel, actually. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his thighs as his lips twisted into an unhappy grimace. He tried to ignore the hot burning sensation behind his eyes. He was just too damn tired of being so damn careful, and his other gambles had worked out so well they'd made him too used to getting what he wanted. And he had _wanted_ Steve—more than he'd imagined it was possible to want. He felt something inside him break with almost a physical snapping sensation. "What the hell _do_ I have to do, then?" Turning to face Steve again, he glared, intentionally challenging. "Fucking _tell_ me, you self-righteous bastard."

"Bucky..." Steve's voice was pitched to soothe, and at any other time it might have worked.

He reached out to touch Winter's arm, but Winter jerked away. Actually pulling away from Steve's touch felt akin to tearing his own skin off, but it was the closest opportunity Steve was giving him to outright defiant disobedience, so he'd take it. He let out a rough, wordless growl, cradling his flesh arm against his chest with his metal one—he may as well have been physically hurt, considering. He could feel the tears on his face now, hot and salty, but they didn't matter. Unwilling to remain seated when filled with so much charged energy—and since Steve wouldn't godsdamn _tell_ him what to do anyway—Winter lurched to his feet, stumbling away from the bed. He really should look at Steve, because it would hurt more, but he just couldn't make himself do it.

"Bucky!" So much concern in Steve's voice. Gods, it hurt to cause Steve any pain, but what choice had he left Winter? "Bucky, please." Steve was closer now, standing so near but not touching—once again denying himself what he wanted.

"Please _what?_" Bucky snarled, turning his head to glare at Steve.

Steve exhaled helplessly, spreading his hands at his sides to show he was unarmed. Not that Steve needed a weapon to be a threat. "Let me help you. I—I don't understand, but I'm _trying_." He swallowed, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know what to do."

Winter did roll his eyes then, because _that_ much had been obvious. But the merchant had given Steve all the information he needed; it was no one else's fault if he'd refused to read or follow the directions. "You are _not_," Winter said, voice dark and brittle, "going to let me get away with this."

"'Get away with'?" Steve shrugged his shoulders. But there was a hint of exasperation in his voice, and that was a start anyway. "What are you even talking about?"

Winter turned to face Steve, unconsciously falling into a combat stance. "You're not going to let your slave defy and disrespect you."

Steve's eyes narrowed, and he actually _glared_ at Winter. "You are not a slave, Bucky!" The glare melted away to helpless confusion once again. "And...you—what the heck would you expect me to do? _Punish_ you?"

Well, "Yes." Of _course_.

"That's not going to happen." Steve said the words with such finality.

Winter's heart sank. It seemed he had few choices left. Quickly, expertly—because he actually _was_ an expert—Winter slapped Steve across the face with the back of his metal hand.

It damned well should have been enough, but instead of retaliating, Steve was just staring at him with wide, hurt eyes, one hand coming up to touch gingerly at his newly-reddened cheek. His voice was soft and hesitant when he spoke. "Bucky?"

So Winter hit him again, this time adjusting the angle to split that enticing lower lip, the one he'd wanted so much to nibble teasingly and suck into his mouth. But Steve was so tied up in denying his own desires, even _he_ probably didn't know if he'd wanted to kiss Winter back. The bright red blood beading up on Steve's swelling skin begged Winter to lick it off, but he just glared at it and then at Steve's eyes. Steve's stupidly, _stubbornly_ still not actually angry eyes. "Fight _back_, you idiot."

"I'm not—" Steve swallowed, closing his eyes for a second. His words were, unsurprisingly, slightly slurred. He shook his head, looking back up to meet Winter's eyes. "I'm not going to fight you, Buck."

And he _didn't_. He may as well have been a child's absurdly large, freakishly muscular doll for how he let Winter move him about, slamming him to the wall and holding him there by an unyielding metal hand about the throat. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Winter hissed, face so close to Steve's he could practically taste the tang of blood in the millimetres of air between them.

"Please, Bucky," Steve choked. "I don't wanna hurt you."

To be fair, Winter didn't want to hurt Steve either, but he was willing to do it for both their sakes. However hard he had to push...and so far, he hadn't even broken any bones. May have cracked one of Steve's ribs... But the serum would heal that up in no time. Winter had no reason to feel guilty.

The sound of the door opening behind him alerted Winter to the new threat, but he only turned in time to register Happy and Rhodey and the ICER weapons in their hands before the first cartridge punched into his chest like a concentrated drop of cryo. His arms were going limp, and he wasn't touching Steve anymore as he stumbled forward a step—_should have been wearing armour_, his sluggish brain supplied.

"Wait!" Steve's voice called from behind Winter. Then another cartridge took Winter in the head, and everything was dark and cold at once.

o0o

"You shot him." Steve's voice, slurred as it was by his injuries and _the blood running from his nose and mouth_, still managed to convey a clear sense of incredulity and shocked disapproval.

"Of course we shot him," Tony snapped, pulling the maddeningly uncooperative idiot Steve to his feet. "_You_ might be willing to let him strangle you while he uses your brain to play ping-pong inside your skull, but the rest of us aren't willing to just sit by and let that happen. Now are you going to walk to the infirmary, or do I have to Ice you too?" Tony waved his ICER pistol where Steve could see it. He hadn't had to use it, since Happy and Rhodey's shots had been enough, thank all the gods. Come to think of it, taking down Steve Rogers would probably require at least three shots if not more. It wasn't a test Tony was particularly eager to try, regardless of scientific curiosity. Though Steve would probably be totally into that, because...hell. The guy was a bloody freaking masochist.

"I..." Steve swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at the blood like he didn't know what it was. "I'll walk." Just as they were leaving his cabin, though, he turned back to look at Barnes' unconscious form. "What about Bucky?"

Tony raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "You worried he bruised his knuckles on your jaw? ICERs are one-hundred percent safe with no lasting side effects. He'll be _fine_." Tightening his grip on Steve's bicep, Tony added in a gruffer voice, "Now _walk_ before he wakes up and tries to kill you again."

o0o

Steve allowed Tony to lead him through the halls of the ship to the infirmary. Other than a slight sting when he touched it or tried to talk, his lip didn't even hurt. He just didn't understand... What had even _happened_? What had he done to cause Bucky to react with such anger? But surely he hadn't meant to kill him; Bucky would never do that. Maybe if he could figure out what Bucky _had_ been trying to do...well, that was important, wasn't it?

He sat obediently on the edge of the exam table and let Tony fuss over his face. "I'm gonna get Bruce on holo," Tony said. "I _think_ this is just a first aid thing, but that's kind of the point—I'm not a freaking doctor, and he is."

Steve nodded. It seemed to hurt less than trying to talk, but he wasn't sure. At least Tony had done something to stop the bleeding.

Tony asked JARVIS to put in the call to Bruce, and while they were waiting for the response he dabbed at Steve's eyebrow—apparently there was a cut there he didn't even remember getting—and asked, "So you forget your safeword or something?"

Steve blinked at him. "What?"

"Your safeword," Tony repeated. "You know, so you _don't_ actually end up with broken ribs and brain damage."

Steve stared at him blankly. Maybe Steve really was suffering brain damage, because nothing Tony was saying made sense. Though, that often happened, really. It wasn't exactly a new experience.

Tony looked away, shaking his head. "Didn't they, like, _have_ sex on New Brooklyn? Or were you all thrown together in some backwoods lab?"

Steve looked down, feeling his face heat. He honestly had no idea what a 'safeword' might have to do with sex—or how sex could ever lead to broken ribs or brain damage of all things—but Bucky _had_ kissed him. And not in a way he could construe as platonic either. That was yet another part of this—like pretty much _every single part_, really—that he didn't understand. He was saved from having to give an answer to Tony's question, though, by Bruce picking up the holo call.

o0o

Winter woke up on the floor of Steve's cabin feeling...fine. Well, fine _physically_; he didn't even feel cold. He had no injuries he could detect and no noticeable aftereffects from the ICER. Not that there should have been any. He'd taken double the standard dose, but his body was good at recovery, no doubt more so now that he'd been eating well, sleeping better, and exercising regularly. He was alone, and a quick check proved the door was locked securely from the outside. Okay. That was...good, actually: he was being punished. Finally. It wasn't as personal as what he'd had in mind, but it should be just as effective. Easier for Steve too, no doubt, so that was good as well. He didn't really want Steve to have to do anything that would make him feel guilty. Gods, that man was obnoxiously, beautifully good and kind and _gentle_. But gentle or not, being locked up was still a punishment, and that's what mattered.

He settled himself quietly on the floor within easy view of the door, kneeling with his head bowed. It could be hours or even days before Steve's return, but he could wait.

o0o

The image of Doctor Bruce Banner floated in the infirmary in front of Steve and Tony—Steve kept expecting the image to flicker as holos so often did back in his day, but Stark Tech kept reminding him that he really was in the future. "From what I can see right now," the doctor said, "and from what JARVIS is telling me, the injuries do seem to be mostly superficial—the most serious being that cracked rib." He gestured to Steve's side. "But even that should heal quickly with the serum's help...I'd say two weeks, max, but it could even be less than a week with proper diet and enough rest." He focused his attention on Steve. "But in that time, Steve, you have to be careful; you need to give your body the opportunity to heal." Letting out a breath, he removed his glasses and ducked his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Looking back up at Tony, he added, "I suppose it's more superstitious than anything, but I'll feel better once I can look at him with my own eyes here in my own lab."

"Understandable," Tony assured him. He turned to Steve. "Well, you heard the doctor."

Steve nodded. He had heard; he was going to be fine—Bucky hadn't been trying to kill him after all. Just...to hurt him. Steve swallowed. "Bruce?"

"Yeah?" He put his glasses back on and looked at Steve.

"Do you..." Steve took a deep breath, wincing at the stab of pain in his side. "I need to know how to help Bucky. I don't—" He reached up to scratch at the hair on the back of his neck, and..._ow_: apparently moving his arm hurt. Okay then. Sighing, he clasped his hands loosely between his knees. "I don't understand what happened back there." He nodded towards the door. "And I know psychology isn't exactly your specialty, but you've gotta know more than I do anyway."

Tony leaned his hip against the exam table, smirking slightly. "You wanna share what led up to this lovers' spat? In the interest of science?"

Steve blushed so hard he was sure his scalp was red under his hair. He couldn't even deny the 'lovers' part of that, could he? He stared at the floor and forced the words out: "He kissed me."

"Okay..." Tony made a puzzled sound. "And that's not...just...an everyday thing for you two?"

Steve shook his head. It was something that had _never_ happened before, something he'd never expected, never even considered...

"Steve?" That was Bruce's voice. Steve made himself look up at the doctor's holographic face. "Would you be more comfortable talking about this if Tony wasn't here?"

Steve shook his head. "No, it's fine." Tony knew about this sort of thing and might have some insights. Steve could deal with his teasing. He took a breath and tried to just explain things calmly, ignoring his embarrassment. "Before...that—before the kiss—" He took another breath. He could do this. He had to do this. For Bucky, to help Bucky. "I mentioned how sometimes I expect him to act like he used to, how I forget that so much has changed." It was a little like reporting to a superior in the army: just state the facts calmly. "He asked me to tell him what to do—said I was his owner. I told him I wasn't going to treat him like a slave, and at first that seemed to upset him—angry, frustrated, tense. But then he looked at me like...like he was trying to figure something out? And that's when he kissed me." Steve spread his hands helplessly. "I didn't know what to do, how to react to...that. And then he said he wanted to make me happy—I told him he didn't have to, and that's when he got _really_ angry: cursing...called me 'self-righteous'...um, demanded again that I tell him what to do. And then he insisted that I not let him get away with disrespect and that I punish him." Ducking his head, Steve shrugged his shoulders. "When I told him that wasn't going to happen, he hit me." Steve let out a shuddering breath. "He demanded I fight back and got angrier when I wouldn't." He shrugged again and looked from Bruce to Tony. "That's about the point when Rhodey and Happy came in and shot him."

"With ICERs," Tony clarified. "He's probably awake already—and before you say anything, Rogers, you're not going anywhere near him right now." He gave Steve a warning glare. "You have a galaxy-sized blindspot when it comes to him."

Steve's shoulders slumped involuntarily, and...okay, that _hurt_. He really should stop being surprised by what hurt; it's not like it was the first time he'd cracked a rib, anyway. Just the first time since the serum. But Tony was right; Steve needed some advice before he tried to deal with Bucky again.

Bruce sighed, pushing his dark hair off his forehead. "You're right...this isn't my area of expertise. So I'm not going to offer advice as a medical professional, because I'd really have to read up on this sort of thing a lot more before I could do that with any sort of confidence. But I can offer you some advice as a friend: if he gets violent again, you need to leave the room. Even after your rib's completely healed and everything." He gestured toward Steve's injury. Sitting forward in his chair, he folded his hands on the desk in front of him and regarded Steve seriously. "It's not at all acceptable for him to treat you that way, and you can't just allow him to take out his anger on you—it's not healthy for either of you."

Steve nodded. He supposed that made sense that it wouldn't be good for Bucky to hurt his friend. Even the _thought_ of hurting Bucky twisted Steve up inside. "Thanks, Bruce."

"I agree with Bruce," Tony said, nodding toward the holo image then looking back at Steve. "I don't want to have to go busting into your cabin to save your sorry ass again; so next time...if there's a next time, you get the hell out of there. Whatever you do, don't just stand there and pretend to be a punching bag."

At Steve's chastened nod, Tony continued. "Now, let me just see if I've understood what happened—the basics anyway. You invited this guy into your room and—unless one of you slept on the floor, which I highly doubt—your bed, you assured him that even though you technically own him according to some document that he saw you sign off on, you don't see him as a slave and that he was free to do what he liked, and that's the point when he kissed you." Tony scratched his fingers through his black hair. "I don't want to read too much into this, but it seems to me that he probably _wanted_ to kiss you. Not because you're his owner, but because you're...you." Tony gestured to all of Steve and muttered something under his breath that sounded like, 'I mean, have you _looked_ at yourself?'

Steve felt himself blush again. He looked down at his hands. "He said he wanted to make me happy."

"So?" Tony quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do you have any idea how often I say that to people I'm trying to get into bed with or am already in bed with?" He shrugged. "You don't have to read disturbing slavery undertones into everything he says...especially when you insist you don't actually see him as a slave."

Steve felt something constrict painfully in his chest. He wanted to apologize to Bucky, but he wasn't sure what he'd say, 'Sorry for assuming you saw yourself as a slave'?

"Let's just assume for now," Tony said, "that he did want to kiss you. His reaction after that makes...a little sense—I mean, blown out of proportion maybe, but rejection can hurt, especially when there's actual feelings involved."

Steve stared at Tony, eyes wide. "Wait, you think Bucky's in love with me?"

Tony glanced at Bruce then back at Steve. "He could be," Tony said gently. "Or he could just be attracted to you."

"Either way," Bruce added, "he's your friend, so he cares about you, and he might feel as though he's ruined that now."

o0o

Steve looked from Bruce to Tony with such a helpless expression on his face that Tony was struck with a sudden urge to hug him—but there were probably relatively few divergent universes where that would actually come across as comforting as it was intended.

Steve gripped the edges of the exam table with both hands. "I have to fix this, to make it right."

Tony shook his head then ran the tips of his thumb and finger in a rough circle around his mouth, smoothing the edges of his goatee. "It's pretty clear to all of us that you don't know _how_."

"I have to try," Steve insisted. "He—he can't think I've abandoned him." Steve was so wonderfully earnest Tony wasn't sure how _anyone_ could know him for any length of time and not be at least a _little_ in love with him. This Barnes guy had known him all his life—poor bastard had never had a chance.

"You need to rest," Bruce said, gently but firmly.

"You can either sleep here," Tony said, his voice leaving no room for argument, "or you can sleep in that cabin assigned to Barnes, the one that's never actually been _used_, since he's been shacking up with you."

Steve ducked his head, the red of his ears darkening.

"Tony..." There was a warning in Bruce's voice as he gave Tony his best 'don't be an asshole' look, but...what the hell? Barnes had broken one of Steve's _ribs_. And Steve—Steve had apparently broken Barnes' heart. But somehow _Tony_ was the bad guy for giving accurate commentary on the whole mess?

Sighing, Tony ran a hand over his face. "Look, I might have something actually helpful to contribute. You remember those pamphlets the merchant tried to give you? The ones I took because you were just staring blankly? I think that's what Barnes may have been getting at..."

o0o

**I do apologize for cutting it off there (I guess it's not technically a cliffhanger, but it must be frustrating all the same). I'll try to update a little earlier next week to make it up to you all.**

o0o


	5. Shattered Edges

o0o

**Chapter 5: Shattered Edges**

Steve did remember the pamphlets, vaguely. Some sort of 'instruction manual' on slavery, nothing in which Steve had _any_ interest. "What about them?" Steve's lips still felt stiff and heavy when he tried to move them. He probably should have just nodded rather than tried to speak.

"Well," Tony responded. "I glanced over them before chucking them in a drawer, and..." He let out a breath while running one hand through his hair. "There's some pretty effed up stuff in there. About punishment and how it's...important to this whole slavery 'bond'...thing."

"Capture bonding," Bruce supplied then looked somewhat abashed when the other two turned to look at his holo image. "It'd be what...the pamphlets are suggesting: an activation—or at least a partial activation—of the capture bonding mechanism, sometimes called 'Stockholm syndrome.'"

"Yeah." Tony nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "That's what I figured; it was basically a 'Stockholm Syndrome How To,' with a side of gas-lighting...maybe, you know, I didn't really wanna know."

"So this is what Bucky's previous owners would have done to him?" A swirling mass of nausea was growing in Steve's stomach.

"Probably." Tony grimaced.

"But..." Steve was still so confused. "Why would he ask me to do that to him?"

Tony shrugged, grimacing again.

"When people are stressed," Bruce offered, "we often sort of regress...to an earlier, usually more child-like state."

Tony smirked, and Bruce shot him a look. Tony held up his hands in surrender. "I didn't say anything." He grinned. "And you know I'm a huge fan of you in any state, but especially in the more toddler-like one."

Steve rolled his eyes. Tony's insistence on provoking Bruce was apparently funnier to Tony than to anyone else. It would bother Steve more if Bruce actually seemed to mind, though. Maybe it was a sort of training for Bruce, getting him used to minor irritations, proving to everyone that he could handle it. Or maybe it was mostly just the 'poke it and see what happens' sort of 'science' Bruce and Tony both seemed to enjoy.

Bruce smiled mildly at Tony. "And you know I'm a big fan of you, even though your _only_ state is exactly like a toddler."

Tony stood up straighter, grinning brilliantly at Bruce and Steve as though he'd won some prize. "But anyway." He looked back at Bruce. "You were saying..." He gestured for him to go on. "About the regressing."

Bruce gave Tony a small smile before turning his attention back to Steve. "We often find comfort in things that are familiar, even unhealthy things, things that we wouldn't logically associate with comfort."

"When you two were in the military together," Tony cut in. "You were his commanding officer, right?"

Steve nodded. That had come up in the conversation with Bucky, actually.

"So," Tony continued, "you giving him orders could be a _comfortingly_ familiar thing for him, even outside any effed-up slavery conditioning."

"I guess..." Steve's orders to the Howlers had been battlefield things, though; not simple day to day instructions. They'd all been pretty good about keeping things clean and orderly and being quiet after light's out, anyway. Steve had never _liked_ giving orders outside combat situations—it just seemed so _petty_ to tell someone else what to do when no one's lives hung in the balance.

Bruce sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "Since he's asked you to tell him what to do, Steve, you might...consider it. It could be helpful to him in some way; sometimes people find a sense of freedom in unquestioning obedience, as paradoxical as that sounds."

Okay then. Steve could breathe a bit easier. He had some ideas now, some suggestions of things that might help Bucky. He'd messed things up pretty badly, but maybe now he could start to fix them.

But not until after he'd gotten a proper night's sleep, as both Tony and Bruce adamantly insisted.

"I'll sleep in Bucky's cabin," Steve conceded. It was more private than the infirmary, and the bed was bigger.

They said goodnight to Bruce and thanked him for his help, then Tony walked with him to Bucky's unused cabin despite Steve being quite sure he could walk that far alone; it was his rib that was broken—or, just _cracked, _actually—not his leg.

"So," Tony said as they reached the door of the cabin. "You were pretty...unprepared for when Barnes kissed you."

Sighing, Steve nodded. 'Unprepared' was a good word for it.

Tilting his head, Tony furrowed his brow slightly. "So...you'd never thought about it?"

Thought about kissing Bucky? Steve shook his head, looking at the floor then back up at Tony. "No; I hadn't."

"Really." Tony narrowed his eyes slightly. "Huh."

Steve let out a soft, exasperated sigh. "Why? Is that normal or something to just—to think about kissing your best friend?"

Tony shrugged. "I don't know about 'normal,' but..."

If he wasn't sure it would hurt badly enough that he couldn't suppress a wince, Steve would have folded his arms. "So you—that's something you do?"

Tony smiled lopsidedly. "I don't usually stop at just thinking about kissing."

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. Okay, fine. Tony was a total pervert; everyone who knew him knew that. He opened his eyes again but still couldn't look directly at Tony. "But...your oldest friend?"

Tony grinned. "What you have to understand, Rogers, is that if I've met someone, I've pretty much _thought about it_." He shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets. "Doesn't mean I'd actually want to _do_ it, but—that's part of the point of thinking about it: to decide if I'd want to."

It really shouldn't have bothered Steve, because what went on inside Tony's head was his own business and it wasn't hurting anyone. It's just that... Tony had basically told him, 'I've thought about having sex with you,' and that was...well, it was disturbing, and not something Steve himself wanted to think about _ever_. And he really didn't want to know what Tony had decided about if he'd want to, but he had a feeling he already knew the answer to that, and that was another thing he didn't ever want to think about. But it also meant that Tony had thought about having sex with _Bucky_. And _that_ was so much more disturbing. He took some quiet breaths through his nose and tried _not_ to think about Tony thinking about...anything. He turned toward the cabin door. "Goodnight, Tony."

He could hear the unrepentant smile in Tony's voice as he replied, "Goodnight, Steve."

The cabin door closed behind him, and Steve let out a relieved breath, closing his eyes once again. Dealing with Tony was so exhausting sometimes...okay, most of the time.

As he laid down—carefully—on the all too empty bed, Steve couldn't help worrying about Bucky: if he was okay, if he was still angry, if he was scared or sad. He sighed. "JARVIS?"

"Something I can do for you, Captain Rogers?" The AI's response was polite and prompt.

"Is..." He licked his lips gingerly, wincing slightly at the sting. "Is Bucky...is he all right?" JARVIS didn't make a habit of monitoring people too closely, but it had been obvious—once Steve's head had cleared enough to think—that JARVIS had been the one to alert the others to the incident earlier, no doubt because Steve was sustaining injuries.

"Sergeant Barnes' vitals are all well within expected parameters."

Steve let out a relieved breath. "Good...that's good." After a pause he added, "If that changes...if he seems distressed, please let me know. Even if I'm asleep, I want you to wake me up."

"Very good, sir."

"Thanks." Steve relaxed back against the pillow, closing his eyes. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep, even with the mild sedative and painkillers Tony had given him—compounds Bruce had designed in hopes they would work _with_ his serum-enhanced physiology rather than fighting uselessly against it. But he might as well rest and let his body—and the serum—do their work.

o0o

Winter's knees had gone numb from his weight pressing them to the floor and all the muscles in his legs were cramped from staying so long in one position. His mouth was dry, past the point of being uncomfortable. There was water in the taps and there were sports drinks in the small fridge—Steve had told him he could have anything he wanted from the fridge, but that was before he earned this punishment.

Perhaps this was a test to see how obedient he would be—no doubt the AI was watching him, even recording him. Steve could even be watching him on a screen or holo in another part of the ship. That thought was comforting. _I'm being good for you, Steve_, he thought.

He kept his eyes closed and focused on his breathing. It was soothingly familiar just to kneel and wait.

As the hours passed, the slight discomfort in his bladder would grow into pain, but he could deal with pain, and if it became urgent, he'd use the bathroom rather than soil Steve's carpet. But Steve might return before then. The thought of Steve's return was a warm one, a bright hope floating before him, a goal he could achieve if only he waited.

o0o

"Captain Rogers?" JARVIS' calm voice cut through the fog of Steve's decidedly less than restful sleep.

He instinctively rolled onto his side to push himself up then hissed at the pain and clutched protectively at his side only to realize that he'd pulled his mouth into a grimace that tugged at the tender still-healing parts of his lips. "Ow." He allowed himself a few quick pants to get past the pain before stubbornly—but more carefully—rolling into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. "What is it, JARVIS?"

"Sergeant Barnes, sir," the AI responded. "It appears he has not moved from his position in the past twelve hours, and he is both becoming dehydrated and sorely in need of relieving himself."

"Is he unconscious?" Even in the average human, an ICER should have worn off by _now_. Steve stretched his arms experimentally, frowning at the annoying ache from his injured rib.

"No, sir; he has been conscious since approximately ten minutes after yourself, Mister Stark, Mister Rhodes, and Mister Hogan left your cabin."

What the heck could Bucky be doing in the same spot for _twelv__e_ hours if he wasn't sleeping? "Thank you for alerting me, JARVIS." Steve was already heading for the door; it wouldn't take him long to get to his own cabin, to get to Bucky.

"You are very welcome, sir."

o0o

Winter was in pain, but that was good. He'd earned his pain, deserved it and far worse. He focused on the pain, rolling the distinctive sharpness of it over in his mind as he might turn a shard of broken glass in his hand to admire the beauty of the shattered edges.

It had been a long time—but not a distressingly long time—that he'd been alone, locked away for his unacceptable behaviour. He had barely even begun to feel hungry, and what he did feel was mostly due to lack of sleep rather than lack of food. That, and having become too used to eating regularly.

The door opened with a soft whooshing sound, and Winter opened his eyes to see Steve's unmistakable form standing in the doorway. Winter's ability to suppress the joyful grin that wanted to break out on his face was helped by the very real physical pain he was feeling. The relief at seeing his Mast—wait, was Steve his Master already? He was unsure, and that in and of itself was strange; he _should_ be sure of something like that. But his mind had _almost_ supplied the title instinctively. Had, actually, until his own thoughts had interrupted.

"On your feet, Sergeant." Steve's voice was quiet, but was filled with an edge of command that made Winter shiver as he immediately moved to obey. The 'Sergeant' thing was a bit unexpected, since Steve had always called him 'Bucky' before, but apparently Bucky had been a Sergeant when he and Steve were in the army together. And really, Steve could call him anything he wanted. Steve fired off a quick series of further commands: Winter was to use the toilet, take a shower, and clean his clothes while he was at it.

The pain in his body—his muscles and joints shrieking as he moved them after keeping still so long, the blood rushing back into the flesh where his knees had been pressed to the floor holding nearly all of his weight—was unimportant compared to the heady idea that Steve was finally accepting his role and giving Winter the orders he needed.

o0o

As the bathroom door closed behind Bucky, Steve sank down onto the edge of the bed, wincing as his rib protested the change in position. Bruce had said something about another dose of painkillers in the morning, but the pain wasn't important. He focused on his breathing to calm himself. The image of Bucky as he'd been when Steve opened the door threatened to overwhelm him: Bucky had been kneeling, head bowed, the picture of a patient slave awaiting his Master's will. JARVIS had said Bucky hadn't moved from that position for _twelve hours_. Steve felt nausea welling up, clawing at the back of his throat with strangling, insidious fingers. He should have come back sooner; should have insisted against Tony, against everyone—it had been a mistake to leave Bucky alone.

If Steve had been there, at least he could have told Bucky to sleep.

o0o

When Winter got out of the shower—Steve had wanted him clean, so he'd been careful to remove all the traces of dried blood from the crevices of his metal hand, trying not to think too much about how it was Steve's blood other than to remind himself that he'd earned his punishment through blatant, inexcusable disrespect—he paused for a moment considering his clothing. Steve hadn't said if he should put his clothes back on once both he and they were clean. Winter had been so thrilled at Steve giving him orders that he hadn't noticed the lack of certain ones. He toyed with the corner of the shirt, rubbing the soft material between his metal thumb and forefinger. He risked disappointing or even offending Steve either way, but Steve had always wanted him clothed before—even insisting on a shirt before they left the market—and that decided it. His partially-recovered joints and muscles protested as he moved them to pull on the clothes, but the pain would have been worse if it wasn't just sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Finally, he pushed his fingers through his wet hair to straighten it, glancing at himself in the mirror. His stubble was getting thick, flirting with the idea of becoming a full beard—maybe he should shave soon. Maybe Steve would tell him to shave soon; his old Master had always told him when to shave.

o0o

"Bruce," Tony lamented, pressing one hand over his eyes as he sprawled on his couch, loose bathrobe open over his pyjamas, "I don't know what to _do_ with this guy." He wasn't nearly drunk enough to deal with this, but it was still morning, so how could he be _expected_ to be?

"'This guy' being Steve?" Bruce asked.

"Yes, Steve—who else?" Tony rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink. "He spends the night alone like we tell him—fine, okay, good. But then he's up and back in the cabin with Barnes before I know what's going on, and it turns out JARVIS, the _traitor_—" He glared up at the ceiling. "—agreed to wake him up if Barnes became 'distressed.'"

Bruce frowned. "Distressed?"

"Yeah." Tony gestured with his half-full tumbler, the ice making soft tinkling sounds against the glass. "Apparently he was just sitting there in the same spot all damn night, and JARVIS was concerned he was getting dehydrated, but instead of just telling Barnes to drink some damn water, my stupid AI decides to actually wake the injured Boy Scout up to go play nanny to the psycho who injured him in the first place."

"But..." Bruce narrowed his eyes. "You said 'agreed,' that JARVIS 'agreed' to wake Steve up—so Steve asked JARVIS to do that?"

"Because Steve is a freaking martyr, yes." Tony sat up and tapped his fingers against the edge of his glass. "No, JARVIS isn't just thinking of these horrifying things on his own, thank all the gods. I'd really have to reprogram him then."

Bruce sighed. "Steve's an adult, Tony..."

Tony snorted. He took a swallow of his drink. "We're all supposed to be adults, Bruce—why do none of us ever seem to act like it? And, why don't we ever have bananas? I would _love_ a banana daiquiri right now."

"Bananas..." Bruce began.

But Tony didn't let him finish, waving his hand dismissively. Trust Bruce to try to answer a rhetorical question. "Very particular conditions for cultivation, stupidly difficult to grow on space stations, don't transport well—taste _disgusting_ if dried, and are only good for baking if frozen...I know." He shot Bruce a pointed look. "They're almost as bad as avocados, but it's not guacamole I'm craving." He threw back the rest of his drink and flopped back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. "JARVIS, where can I get bananas? _Please_ tell me it's somewhere between here and Avenger Tower."

"Did you still need me?" Bruce asked. "Because I've got real work I could be doing..."

"Sure, go 'work.'" He wrinkled his nose, waving Bruce off. "Do you want me to bring you some bananas if they're not all brown and mushy by the time we get there?"

Bruce sighed, impatient. "Sure, if you want."

Tony turned his head to regard his friend. "I hope you appreciate all I do for you."

Bruce shook his head, his smile reluctantly fond. "You know I do." He ended the call.

"Mister Stark?" JARVIS said, all politeness, having waited until Bruce and Tony were done their conversation. "There is a port currently selling fresh bananas that would be only a slight deviation from our current course."

"Perfect." Tony grinned. Maybe this day, despite how it had begun, wasn't entirely terrible after all. "Lay in a course for that port." Setting his empty glass on the edge of his coffee table, Tony added quietly to himself, "Banana daiquiris, here we come."

o0o

Bucky re-emerged from the bathroom, damp hair falling in his face and posture hesitant. Was he still expecting to be punished? Steve sighed. "Come here, Bucky."

Bucky's bearing relaxed somewhat as he approached, but he paused again, unsure, when he reached Steve.

"Sit." Steve indicated the bed beside him.

Bucky sat. Ever since Steve found him in that cage, Bucky had been quiet—far more quiet than Steve ever remembered him being—but his silence was especially unnerving after the violence of the previous day.

Steve hadn't thought to order him to drink anything, to get a drink of water while he was in the bathroom. Damn; that probably meant he _hadn't_. "Are you thirsty?"

Bucky nodded.

"There's juice and sports drinks in the fridge." Steve nodded his head towards the kitchenette. "Grab one for yourself and one for me. Please."

Bucky rose and moved to obey, grabbing the first sports drink and then taking far longer to select a bottle of juice—finally settling on pomegranate-blueberry-açaí. When he returned to Steve, he presented him with the juice then hesitated briefly before reclaiming his spot on the bed.

"Thank you." Steve gave him a small smile, twisting the lid off the top of the bottle and taking a swallow. It was cold, and the vibrant flavour was invigorating as it washed over his tongue. He nodded to the still unopened bottle in Bucky's hands. "Go ahead. Drink."

Bucky uncapped the bottle and obeyed. And didn't stop obeying even as the bottle rapidly emptied.

"Okay, okay." Steve laughed a little awkwardly. Sure, Bucky was thirsty, but it couldn't be healthy to drink that fast. "Take a breath once in a while." If this was how Bucky wanted to do things—following orders like an overly-literal robot—it was going to be _exhausting_ for Steve.

Bucky moved the bottle from his lips and regarded Steve, face blank.

"Look, Buck..." Steve carefully rolled his shoulders, wincing only slightly at the pain in his side. "I can do this—giving you orders, like you wanted—I can, if that helps you, if that's what you need right now." He sighed. "But please...if there's something you just _want_ to do, you don't need to wait for me to tell you, okay? And if I tell you to do something and you don't want to do it, you don't _have_ to obey me either."

Bucky lowered the half-empty bottle to rest its bottom on his thigh, still watching Steve silently.

Steve ran his hand over his mouth, forgetting his still healing lip. He frowned down at his hand; at least he didn't seem to be bleeding. "You can talk, too, if you want," he offered. Was it his fault that Bucky wasn't speaking? Had he made him so uncomfortable by rejecting his kiss? He sighed and laid his hand gently on Bucky's wrist. "Please, Bucky; if you want to say something, please say it."

Bucky swallowed. "I'm sorry." His voice was quiet and slightly rough. "It doesn't change anything, but I am."

Steve smiled, awkward and relieved all at once. He gave Bucky's wrist a squeeze. "I'm sorry too, Buck."

Bucky's eyes flew to meet his, startled. Then he shook his head, pressing his lips into a grim line. "Don't be."

Steve tried to smile as he felt a pang of sadness in his chest. He turned his juice bottle in his hands, staring at the purple label as the white lettering blurred before his eyes. He didn't know how not to be sorry. Not when all of this was his fault. He sighed and looked back at Bucky. "I messed everything up pretty bad, Buck."

Bucky shook his head. "Things are better now."

Steve managed a smile then. At least he was starting to fix things, to help Bucky. "This juice is one of my favourites." He tilted the bottle in his hand. "It's supposed to be really healthy, but I mostly like the taste—have you ever tried it?" Bucky shook his head, so Steve offered him the bottle and Bucky took it with his flesh hand, keeping his own drink in his metal one. "Go on." Steve gave him an encouraging smile.

Bucky took a careful sip, his expression registering surprise. "That is very good. Thank you."

Steve smiled. "I'm glad you like it." He let out a breath, feeling tension leave his body in a relieved rush. Things _were_ better, getting better.

o0o


	6. Wanting More

o0o

**Chapter 6: Wanting More**

When Winter handed the bottle of juice back to Steve, their fingers brushed momentarily. And completely accidentally, because Winter certainly hadn't intended it, and the chances of _Steve_ actually intending something like that were probably worse than a billion to one. Still, the contact sent a thrill through Winter and he froze for a moment with his hand hanging stupidly in the air before he managed to force it down to rest against his thigh. Mercifully, Steve didn't seem to notice, wasn't even looking at Winter anymore.

It was such an intimate thing, though, drinking from Steve's beverage—much like being fed a portion of their Master's own food, it was something slaves were given to reward good behaviour and reinforce their submissive position. Winter's behaviour certainly didn't warrant any sort of reward, and Steve—being the gloriously ignorant paragon of righteousness that he was—no doubt had not even the slightest idea what it meant, what it would mean to his slave. But maybe that didn't matter. Because _Winter_ knew what it meant.

And even Steve agreed things were better now that they were properly in the defined roles. He hadn't voiced his agreement aloud, but his smile had been real and filled with relief. He'd just needed a little reassurance, needed to know he was a good person, a good owner.

Steve took a sip of the juice, lips touching that same glass rim that still held traces of Winter's saliva, and Winter couldn't tear his eyes away. But as Steve lowered his arm, he winced, free hand moving instinctively and protectively to his ribs. To where Winter had injured him.

_All_ of Winter's ribs may as well have cracked in that moment under his crushing guilt. There was no way he'd been punished enough for what he'd done. "I cracked your rib." He hadn't quite meant to say that aloud.

Steve flashed him a quick pained smile. "I heal up fast. Doctor said it shouldn't take more than a few days if I get enough rest and eat right."

Well, that was...good. A normal person's rib would take four to six _weeks_ to heal. But what should Steve eat to encourage a speedy recovery? Winter's old Master had given him vitamin supplements when he'd needed them: calcium and vitamin D for broken bones, iron and vitamin C for blood-loss. It was supposedly healthier to get the needed nutrients from natural foods, though. And undoubtedly more pleasant. "What should you eat?" Winter found himself asking, because he wanted to help—Steve was in no condition to cook, shouldn't even be getting up to grab anything.

"There's..." Steve furrowed his brow slightly. "I've got some canned sardines in the cupboard—they're good for vitamin D—some cheese in the fridge. Those are pretty tasty together on crackers." He grinned, self-deprecating. "Not exactly the most traditional of breakfasts, but it must be almost lunchtime now anyway." After a pause during which Winter pondered if he should just get up and get the food—if that counted as an order—Steve added, "Could you get those for—for both of us?"

Trust Steve to fall back into phrasing his orders like requests. At least it was a clear request. "Of course." Winter allowed himself a small self-satisfied smile as he stood to obey.

Steve—very politely—walked him through the simple food prep, the orders giving Winter a soothing sense of purpose, of accomplishment. They'd only need one plate, it seemed. They'd share. Easier, when eating while seated on the bed.

Since it hurt for Steve to move his arms, Winter held the first cracker up for him, quirking one eyebrow. It was a blatant subversion of convention, a slave offering this...but Steve just laughed softly and accepted, lower lip brushing the tip of Winter's second finger for an instant as he took the food into his mouth.

This wasn't even much of a gamble, really; Steve had made it clear just how far Winter would need to push to be punished, how fully and grossly Winter would need to disrespect him.

Steve snagged a second cracker for himself, grinning. "I can feed myself, you know."

Winter's eyes unfocused and he looked beyond the present into the past. Skinny, sweat-soaked Steve was pressing his lips together in an irritated frown as he tried to push himself upright against the simple metal headboard. 'I can feed myself,' he snapped, blue eyes flashing above dusky purple-grey hollows. His voice was rough, his breathing laboured. His sweat-damp hands shook as they twisted in the worn sheet.

Winter blinked, eyes refocusing on Steve's large hand as it paused near the plate, somehow still so effortlessly capable in its hesitance. It was surprising, actually, how little Steve's hands had changed while the rest of him morphed from David to Goliath. A little thicker now, but the same shape, the same long artist's fingers.

"Buck?" Steve's voice.

Winter looked up, meeting his questioning blue eyes. "The shipment was delayed—raiders, they said. You tried to ration your medicine, only use it when absolutely needed, but then you got real sick." He paused, sorting out the newly-discovered memories. "We had an onion, a carrot, some corn, some of those packets of yellow salt and dry noodles. I made you soup." He looked away. "I'd wanted to steal a ship—there was medicine out there, plenty of it on the core worlds, so much no one could ever miss what you'd need to last a full year. I didn't know how long I'd take, or if I'd get caught. It almost seemed worth it. But I couldn't make myself leave you. It was hard enough to leave that damned room. With..." He shuddered. "You really needed the medicine, Steve. There was so little I could do for you." His eyes snapped back to Steve's. "Why the hell didn't you have anyone else?"

Steve sighed, setting the cracker back down on the edge of the plate. "It was just you and me after my Ma died."

"_You_ could have died," Winter insisted, voice hard. "What kind of effed up civilization expects a couple of _kids_ to just take care of each other?"

"Hey." Steve reached for him, encircling his flesh wrist with strong, capable fingers. "I got better, we got through it. I'm okay."

That really wasn't the _point_. Winter willed away the tears that welled behind his eyes, hot and thick like lava. Maybe the raiders just sold the medicine. Maybe they threw it away because they'd been after something else entirely. The raiders might even have had some poor, sick kid wheezing away in a bed, trembling like the last yellow leaf clinging to an autumn branch and stubbornly trying to feed himself while the spoon slipped in his sweat-slick hands. It wouldn't have mattered, not to a couple of scared kids on New Brooklyn, trying to prove to themselves and each other that they really weren't scared, that they could handle it, damn it, that adult life really wasn't so hard, that they didn't need anyone else. Because that was easier than accepting the fact that no one would offer them help anyway, and the only ones who'd be willing to help were those who didn't have anything to offer—because they were stuck there too on that horrid little rock trying to keep going day after day when the damn medical shipment was delayed, so no one had what they needed.

Winter let out a shaky breath. Steve's hand about his wrist was warm, comforting.

"I don't think you ever told me about the ship," Steve said, a hint of hopeful playfulness in his smile, "about wanting to steal it and turn pirate yourself."

Winter snorted. "You wouldn't have approved."

Steve's smile was lopsided. "I would have told you to stop being such an idiot, that you would have got caught." Steve sighed, looking down. His eyes were serious when he met Winter's gaze once more. "You would have, too; the ships docked on New Brooklyn were old, slow, no good for much, really. And I..." He looked away. He swallowed and gave Winter's wrist a squeeze, his thumb stroking across the back of Winter's hand. His voice was roughened when he spoke again. "I'm glad you stayed with me."

o0o

Steve looked up, and Bucky smiled at him, a little hesitant and a little crooked, and something in his eyes looked so damn much like the Bucky he'd been that Steve could almost forget—again—that so much had changed.

Steve shook his head a bit, trying to clear it. "Here." He picked a cracker up and held it out to Bucky. "You need to eat too."

Bucky swallowed nervously and there was a flash of something like a question in his eyes, but he took the cracker and ate it. Once he'd finished chewing and chased the food with a swallow of his drink, he said, "Thanks."

"Hey." Steve shrugged. "You did all the work."

Between the two of them they finished the food, though Bucky insisted that Steve eat most of it because he was the one who needed vitamin D and calcium. Then Bucky put the plate in the dish cleaner and brought back some protein bars from the cupboard. All the while he kept eyeing Steve with a sort of wary mixture of concern and guilt, and Steve was about ready to try _anything_ to get him to stop looking at him like that.

But what Bucky needed most urgently was sleep. A good four hours if possible to make up for the missed night. And Steve honestly couldn't say he felt fully-rested himself. He wasn't sure if he should try ordering him to sleep—somehow that didn't seem fair, since sleeping wasn't usually a conscious decision people made.

As Bucky deposited their empty drink bottles for recycling, Steve carefully laid himself out on his side of the bed, not bothering with the covers. It's not like his cabin was ever cold. "For the longest time after the cryo, I could barely sleep at all," he said conversationally. He'd found a reasonably comfortable position and his rib was quieting after its grumpy protests to his moving. "But right now, I really feel like I could use a nap." He glanced over at where Bucky stood, watching him uncertainly. "Feel like keeping me company, Buck?"

Bucky nodded and joined him—the care with which he climbed onto his side of the bed without jostling Steve's injury was truly impressive. Steve felt as though he should thank him somehow or at least acknowledge it, but how would one say, 'Thanks for not further hurting the rib you cracked,' to his best friend without sounding stupid?

Smiling at Bucky, Steve caught his flesh hand in a warm grip. "Sleep well, Bucky."

o0o

Winter tried to obey the order, but his mind wouldn't shut the hell up. He had not expected to be welcome back in Steve's bed, certainly not so soon after his misbehaviour. Perhaps not _ever_ after that terribly misjudged kiss. And yet there he was, laid out on his side of the bed as though nothing had changed, hand-in-hand with the most confusingly wonderful and wonderfully confusing man in the universe.

After a while, his exhaustion managed to overpower his confused thoughts and he slipped into unconsciousness.

o0o

Steve didn't get much of a nap, since every time he managed to drift off, he awoke again with a quiet, alarmed gasp and a full-body start that had his rib grumbling loudly that he was supposed to be _napping_ here, not pretending he was being repeatedly shocked with electricity. Bucky was here and safe and _okay_, so if Steve's body could just damn well _relax_, that'd be nice.

Though it was his rib that seemed to be waking him each time, so the damn thing was just being intentionally obnoxious.

Finally, with a sigh, Steve pulled out his Stark Phone and unlocked the screen. He made sure all forms of alert were silenced so it wouldn't wake Bucky and sent a message to Bruce updating him about his own recovery and reporting on the apparently very mild effects of the sedative. He couldn't be sure if the painkiller had done anything, so he was just honest about that.

The message didn't really require a response, and no doubt Bruce was busy. After a few minutes, Steve sent Bruce another message:

_I've been trying the orders thing with Bucky like you suggested. Not sure I'm any good at it, but it seems to be helping._

He didn't have to wait long for Bruce's reply:

_That's good. Just be careful, ok? Remember what I said about leaving the room if he gets violent._

Steve did remember, but it wasn't as if Bucky was showing any signs of a repeat performance. He had been upset by the memory when they were eating, but that was understandable—and he'd only raised his voice a little. It was actually a very _Bucky_ sort of reaction, so it must be a good sign. Steve typed his response carefully—it was common to use shortcuts when typing on phones, but it wasn't really that much work to use actual sentences when the phone suggested most words, practically writing it for him:

_He apologized for what happened. He seems genuinely remorseful, guilty even._

They hadn't had these sorts of phones on New Brooklyn, so Steve had grown up typing messages on a desktop computer when he'd had reason to type messages at all.

Bruce's reply was almost instantaneous:

_Is that supposed to make me feel better?_

Steve frowned. Shouldn't it?

Before Steve could decide how to respond, Bruce sent another message:

_Just be careful. I know you're durable and heal fast, but still. Be careful._

Steve blew out a breath between his lips. He was nearly one-hundred percent sure that he'd only need to tell Bucky to stop, and Bucky would stop; he wouldn't have to do anything else, much less leave the room. Thinking back over the incident, he was pretty sure he'd never even asked Bucky to stop hitting him, which was pretty stupid in hindsight, actually, since it very likely would have worked...and Bucky had been outright demanding to be told what to do. Bucky was only too eager to obey him. That felt wrong still, unsettling, like Steve was taking Bucky's freedom away—Steve could try to tell himself it was just like when they were in the army together when he was Bucky's CO; he just couldn't quite make himself believe it. But at the same time, he couldn't deny that knowing Bucky would obey him was somewhat reassuring.

Another message from Bruce interrupted his thoughts:

_Have you talked to him about the kiss?_

Steve sighed and reluctantly typed his response:

_No. I take it that's something I should do?_

Bruce's reply came all too quickly:

_Yeah. Probably. It's probably better than pretending it never happened._

Well, damn. Pretending it never happened had been Steve's tentative plan.

o0o

When Winter woke, Steve was already awake, watching him and smiling softly, still laying on his side as he had been when Winter had fallen asleep. Winter waking to an already conscious Steve was new, since Winter woke first each morning—but despite Steve's injury, maybe Winter had still needed this nap more for having not slept all night. He yawned and blinked and Steve's smile grew fonder, gentle little crinkles appearing around his eyes as he asked, "Feelin' better?

And Winter really _was_ feeling better, so he nodded. "Much."

Steve grinned. "How about we agree that stayin' up all night is generally a bad idea?"

Winter nodded. "Sure." Steve had a silly way of giving him a standing order to get some sleep each night, but Winter still understood.

Steve reached out and brushed the side of Winter's chin with his knuckles. "You gonna get rid of this scruff sometime, Buck? Pretty soon, you'll look like Thor. Well, a darker-haired Thor."

Winter had no idea who Thor was, but...it seemed Steve wanted him to shave. Maybe. He wasn't being overly clear about his preference. Had been quite evasive when the subject of Winter shaving had come up before. He regarded Steve carefully, trying to decipher any clues that might be hiding in that open, honest, thoroughly gorgeous face. One thing Steve had wanted from the start, though, was Winter's opinions on things.

He was about to open his mouth to give an answer, to say he might as well shave because the beard was itchy anyway, when Steve spoke again. "I've mentioned it before, but I have a razor you can use. If you want."

"Yeah." Winter flashed him a wry smile. "That is something I want."

o0o

Winter found the razor in the drawer under the counter in the bathroom just where Steve said it would be.

"Do you know how to use it?" Steve called from the bed where he was still—mercifully—resting. "I can help you if you need it..."

Turning to look back at Steve through the open door, Winter shook his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I can figure it out." It was a rather modern contraption, but not too different from the last one Winter had used. "Besides, you've got the instructions here in the drawer, and I do know how to read." It felt wrong to talk to his owner like this, insecure little bursts of tension crawling spider-like over his skin in warning. But it somehow felt right to talk to Steve like this.

o0o

When Bucky returned from the bathroom clean-shaven, Steve couldn't help staring. His hair was too long still, but he just looked so much more like his former self. It was a little like looking into the past, a little like he'd woken up to find these past lonely years had just been a dream. It was probably a good thing Bucky's hair was still so long; Steve needed _some_ sort of reminder as over-eager parts of his mind tried to dive headlong into the illusion of a safer, familiar past.

Bucky rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck self-consciously. "How do I look?"

Steve smiled warmly. "You look great, Buck."

Bucky smiled as well, ducking his head so his long hair fell to partially obscure his face. "Thanks." Pausing by the bed he asked almost casually, "Did you need anything?"

Steve tried to convey the idea of a shrug with the smallest twitch of his shoulders. It wasn't so much that he minded the pain when his rib protested his movements, but Bucky always looked so very concerned and so very guilty whenever he saw Steve wince. "We should probably head down to the mess and grab some dinner at some point—can't live off the junk I have here indefinitely." But he really wasn't in the mood to walk anywhere at the moment. He wouldn't want Bucky to go hungry on his account, though. Bucky had done enough of that back before the serum, back when they never had enough and he would sometimes lie right to his face with a careless shrug and a charming smile, claiming he'd already eaten or that he wasn't hungry or—probably the most convincing lie for being mostly true—that he simply couldn't stomach the awful freeze-dried rations, but _Steve_, Steve should treat them like medicine and choke them down because Steve _needed_ to eat. As if Bucky didn't need to eat. "Are you hungry?"

Bucky shrugged. "Not really. Not yet."

"I've got some apple sauce, some other canned fruit...and dried fruit..." Steve tried to remember what all he had in his kitchenette—surely Bucky could go look, even just choose something for himself, but he'd probably just grab the first thing he saw. Which _was_ technically a choice, just not a very well-considered one. "I mean, if you're hungry." Steve really didn't want to seem like he was asking Bucky to bring him food. Again.

Bucky cocked his head to one side. "Are you?"

Steve made a soft, frustrated sound. "Not now; I'm fine." He eyed Bucky where he was still standing by the bed as though awaiting his next order. Which he probably was. "Can you please sit or lie down or something?"

Nodding, Bucky climbed over Steve once again—and again, so very carefully—to reclaim his spot on the bed beside Steve.

As they lay together quietly, Steve wondered if maybe he should bring up the kiss, wondered if it was a good time to have that conversation. If it ever could be a good time.

They were probably both too tired to have a proper discussion, though. It would be better to talk once they'd had some more time to rest and recuperate. Probably.

o0o

As the Stark 1 approached the port—it had some unimportant actual name, but Tony had just flagged it as 'bananas' in his head—Tony had JARVIS inform everyone on board about their stopover: the local 'amenities' and the estimated time of departure. Not that he would ever leave anyone behind, but he didn't relish the idea of searching through a maze of garish market stalls and dingy dive-bars for anyone either. And not that he had many on board he would expect to be less than punctual, except for Barnes possibly, but assuming he even left the ship—which seemed unlikely—he'd no doubt need several crowbars, the Jaws of Life, and a couple kilos of C4 to pry him off of Rogers' side. And the only times Rogers was ever less than punctual was when he got it into his head to pick a fight with entire gangs of over-confident assholes.

On second thought, Tony really hoped Steve just stayed on board for this stopover. That'd be safer for everyone. Especially with that cracked rib that hadn't yet had time to fully heal.

Speaking of the supersoldiers, he'd caught them feeding each other orange sections in the mess the other day—there had most probably been some intentional or unintentional brushing of fingertips against lips, though Tony hadn't actually stood there like a pervy weirdo and _watched_. Not that either one had acted like they'd been 'caught' doing anything the slightest bit out of the ordinary, and Tony himself had managed to pretend like that was in fact a totally normal thing for recently-defrosted old dudes to be doing in a semi-public place, so kudos to Tony. Rhodey should be proud of him or something.

Not that he'd actually told anyone about it. So kudos again?

But it was just depressing, really. Whatever action they were totally _not_ having was so much sexier than anything Tony had managed to get in weeks. Maybe longer. Maybe a lot longer.

Tony scrubbed his fingers through his hair and sighed. He really needed to get back to Avenger Tower where he had his own private kitchen, his own private gym, his own private _everything_, so he wouldn't have to keep running into the most sickeningly, inescapably in love not-actually-a-couple in the known universe.

Not that Tony really had any proof that they weren't, you know, 'actually a couple' now. Maybe Steve had managed to get past that whole 'he's my oldest friend so it's icky to think about him _that_ way' thing and was jumping his bones. Or, probably more likely, letting Barnes jump his bones. But realistically, with Steve's injured rib, any configuration of 'jumping' and 'bones' was kinda not the best idea. At least not for a few more days. And Tony didn't think he could stand seeing Rogers and Barnes any _more_ nauseatingly blissful, so if the gods were at all merciful, they'd all be back at the Tower by the time _that_ actually did become advisable.

But first: bananas.

And any other fresh fruit the port might have at a decent price. He had a whole space station full of people to feed after all, and the population always seemed to be growing.

o0o

Winter turned to look at Steve where he lay beside him on the bed. They had done very little else these past two days—just lying there together, focused on Steve's Stark Phone more often than not. They watched holos and vids, or Steve would read aloud while Winter listened. It had been a surreal realization that Tony, Steve's friend Tony, the captain of the Stark 1 and the guy who'd bought Winter as a present for Steve, was the Tony Stark for whom the currently unrivaled Stark Phone was named.

Steve wasn't exactly up to lifting weights yet: still working on gentle stretching, something Winter would have enjoyed watching far more if it weren't for Steve's occasional winces and the ever-present knowledge that his pain was entirely Winter's fault.

"Did you want to go? See the port?" Winter asked. Somehow, asking questions like this, like he had the right, came easier to Winter now. Perhaps because Steve had made it so very clear that he wanted Winter to speak to him: 'if you want to say something, please say it,' was polite, but it was an order. A somewhat complicated order, since it required Winter to know what he wanted, but...he was getting better at that.

And it's not like Winter had to fear punishment—not unless he was planning on breaking _another_ of Steve's ribs.

Steve shrugged, and thankfully didn't wince—either he was healing or he was getting better at suppressing his reactions. Probably both, actually. "If you want to, we can."

Winter grinned, shaking his head where it lay against the pillow. "Sometimes I'd like to know what _you_ want, Steve."

Steve chuckled, shaking his own head. "It really doesn't matter to me, but I guess I'd rather stay here." He smiled lopsidedly. "Not much chance of me finding anything like what I found in the last market, so..." Steve shrugged again, grinning, a bit self-conscious and a bit playful and entirely gorgeous. His face grew more serious and his hand found Winter's, giving it a squeeze. "I've got everything I need right here."

The thrill of Steve's words burned brightly in Winter's chest: Steve _valued_ him. Valued him so highly that he had no desire to look for anything else. Winter suddenly wanted to kiss him again, but he quickly tamped that desire down—Steve hadn't wanted that, didn't want that. Steve was always so polite with his orders: 'You don't have to do that,' meant, 'Don't do that; don't ever do that again.' It was Winter's flaw that he wanted things he was not allowed; Steve allowed him so much—lavished him with undeserved care and attention—and yet rather than being grateful, the foolish slave selfishly wanted more.

o0o


	7. Thoroughly Inconvenient

o0o

**Chapter 7: Thoroughly Inconvenient**

The woman with the large coppery earrings was trying to hand Tony a banana. That was...unexpected, actually—who did that, anyway? Offering samples of _bananas_ to interested customers? Tony looked between the offending fruit and her over-eager face. He was really getting tired of explaining it to everyone all the time—maybe he should wear a tablet on a chain around his neck with the words scrolling in large, flashing, bold, brightly-coloured type. "I don't like being handed things."

Her cheerful expression morphed to one of confusion. Because, yeah, apparently Tony was the only one in the entire galaxy. He got that. He was _unique_.

Rhodey took the banana and offered the merchant a charming grin. "Thank you."

She relaxed as Rhodey struck up some unimportant conversation with her, and Tony focused on considering his purchase. The bananas seemed to be of good quality, most not quite ripe, but that was ideal. Preferable to slightly overripe anyway. He selected a bunch of yellow ones so he could make a daiquiri right away then turned to the merchant. "I'll take these three crates as well. Can you have them delivered to my ship?" He gave her the airlock number and authorized the payment then turned to consider the other market stalls. It seemed there was quite a lot of fresh pineapple. He wondered if anyone really noticed the difference between that and the canned stuff that was so much more convenient to transport. Maybe he should call Pepper—it sounded like the sort of thing she might know.

o0o

Winter was idly tugging at a snarl in his hair—using his flesh hand since his hair often seemed to get caught in the metal one—while he and Steve lounged together on the bed. Steve had been telling him about his experiences in the recent Chitauri War—it would seem that was how he first met Tony. Steve turned to look at Winter suddenly and said, "Did I forget to offer you a comb? For your hair, I mean."

And how the hell was Winter supposed to answer that question? He didn't want to imply Steve was an inattentive owner, because that couldn't have been further from the truth. And it's not like he'd had any actual opinions about his hair, hadn't even noticed the knots in it until quite recently. But maybe Steve wanted him to comb it—many people found combed, brushed, and styled hair to be more pleasant to look at. Winter shrugged, making himself seem unconcerned. "I just use my fingers, but if you think a comb would be better..." Steve of course kept his own hair so short he'd rarely have use for a comb.

Steve's face betrayed his conflict. No doubt he was twisting himself up over his aversion to giving orders or some such.

Winter made a face and held up the knotted lock of hair. "Not exactly military neat, is it, Captain?"

He hadn't tried calling Steve that before, since Steve wanted to be called 'Steve,' but it proved a good gamble: Steve relaxed, laughing softly and smiling easily at Winter. "There are combs in the second drawer on the left side of the sink."

That probably meant he should go get a comb, so Winter carefully climbed over Steve and strode lazily to the bathroom, returning with a small comb in hand. Maybe he was meant to comb his hair in the bathroom in front of the mirror, but he didn't particularly care what it looked like so long as he could get his fingers through it. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he began to work at the snarl that had started this. It was frustratingly stubborn, even with the comb. He was reasonably sure the hair was not supposed to snap if you did it right.

Steve was watching him with a mixture of mild amusement and concern. After a few moments he pulled himself up to sit as well—stubborn bastard probably didn't think Winter saw that wince—and reached out his hand. "Give me that—you never used a comb before, or what?"

Winter had not in fact used a comb in his memory, but he'd thought he had a working understanding of the theory. He surrendered the comb immediately. "I—" He blew out air through his lips and looked down at the bedspread then back up at Steve. "I suppose they're more complex than they seem."

One corner of Steve's lips turned up. His eyes were as gentle as his hands as he took hold of Winter's hair and got to work. "It depends on the hair, actually. Mine's pretty easy; yours has always been tougher, even when you kept it shorter. It's the curls, mostly."

Steve's hands, careful and patient, felt heavenly. This sort of intimate grooming was something masters sometimes did for their most prized slaves, those who had earned high favour. Steve knew nothing of these conventions, but his favour and regard for his slave was obvious. Winter swallowed. He wanted to close his eyes and just let the sensations wash over him, but he wanted to see Steve, to watch the careful, determined set of his jaw and the gently intent look in his eyes.

"This would probably be easier if we'd wet your hair," Steve said, grinning his spectacular, bashful grin and shaking his head. But he didn't stop, didn't take his hands away, so Winter stayed still. He _wanted_ Steve's hands in his hair, and if dry hair took longer to comb, that was all the better.

Steve's retraining methods, unexpected as they were, had nonetheless been working. Slowly, slower than either Steve or Winter would have liked, but working still. And maybe Steve wasn't quite Winter's Master yet, but he'd made Winter _want_ him to be, and he'd done that before Winter had even understood that Steve was re-training him at all.

"You broke your hand once when we were teens," Steve said, hands and comb still moving steadily in Winter's hair. "You could still handle most things okay, like brushing your teeth, but your hair...it had to _look_ a certain way, right? So you got me to do it for you—remember that?"

Winter shook his head, glancing down at where his hands lay in his lap and wondering which hand he'd broken. He looked back up into Steve's face. "Sorry. I—I wish I could." It sounded like a nice memory, except for the actual breaking bones part, but he'd had so many broken bones since, even that couldn't be so bad.

Steve offered him an encouraging smile. "It's all right, Buck; at the time, I'm sure you wanted to forget."

Winter mentally shook his head at his younger self. If a teenaged Bucky Barnes had ever wanted to forget a single millisecond of the time he'd spent with Steve, then he'd been a fool. Especially if he could have remembered something like _this_, like Steve's careful fingers slowly and steadily working knots out of his hair. It was peaceful, it was beautiful—he could live in this moment forever and want nothing else.

o0o

There was a bar that, perhaps unsurprisingly, served banana daiquiris. Tony sat at one of the tables and sipped at his, considering. Wasn't the best he'd ever had, but certainly wasn't the worst. He raised an eyebrow at Rhodey's still mostly full glass. "How's your drink?"

Rhodey glanced down at it then back up at Tony. "It's fine." As if to prove it, Rhodey took a sip of his drink. A small sip.

"Any idea where Happy is?" Frowning, Tony looked around the dingy room—whoever ran this place didn't seem to have ever heard the word 'ambiance.' "I woulda bought him a drink too."

"He said something about...shopping, I think." Rhodey shrugged. "You could call him." He nodded towards Tony's phone where it lay on the dull grey tabletop.

"Nah." Tony turned back to look at his drink, fiddling with the stem of his glass. "I'll just make him one later. Do you think Rogers and his boyfriend would want them too? We could have a bit of a party in my cabin. Or the mess, or wherever. I know Rogers can't get drunk, but these things just _taste_ good, right?"

Rhodey raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't think Barnes is technically Steve's 'boyfriend.'"

Tony snorted. "Yeah, maybe not _yet_, but... It's like back when Happy was hopelessly, helplessly in love with Pepper but wouldn't admit it—remember that?"

Rhodey nodded. "I remember." He chuckled softly. "You saying these two are going to end up committed to each other too?"

Tony grinned crookedly. "What I'm saying is I've never seen two people who were _already_ more committed to each other."

Rhodey laughed, looking down at the table and shaking his head then looked back up, frowning slightly. "You think it'd be good idea to give Barnes alcohol? I mean, it might not affect him, since he's sorta supersoldiered liked Steve, but...if it did?"

Tony smiled crookedly over the top of his glass. "It's not exactly a great idea to give _me_ alcohol either, and yet here we are."

Rhodey shook his head, leaning back in his chair and grinning. "Mostly I just consider you a lost cause."

"Hey now." Tony nudged his foot under the table, not quite a kick but not exactly playing footsie either. "If that were true, why are you still here: on my ship, on my payroll? It's a big galaxy..."

"It is." Rhodey leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the table. "And nearly all of it is run by people who aren't just stupid but _evil_. So I'll take my chances here." He nodded his head slightly from side to side, a thoughtful look on his face. "Better the devil I know and all that."

Tony took a swallow of his drink, shifting in the creaky, uncomfortable chair. He fixed Rhodey with an intent look. "You'd better not ever turn out to be HYDRA, okay? Or so help me..."

"Yeah." Rhodey gave him a smile that was both understanding and slightly pained. "I know. And, same, for the record."

o0o

"I'm just a little jealous is all," Tony said as he dodged people and cargo on the crowded dock. Rhodey was keeping pace with him while somehow making this obstacle course look like a stroll through a park. "And I don't just mean in a sexual way, though you've gotta admit they're both smokin', like _wow_. But in a deeper way, you know?" He glanced sideways at Rhodey's expression and made a disgusted sound. "Hey, I'll have you know that it's not just about sex with me. I have other...layers." He heaved a sigh and twisted his lips into a thoughtful grimace. "Rogers and Barnes have all this history, though. They were _childhood friends_. Do you even know what that's like? Because I don't. The closest thing I had to a friend before I was twenty was my _nanny_."

"Yeah, I know." Rhodey glanced sideways at him while still walking nonchalantly through the chaos. "You've told me all about your terrible childhood, how hard it was to grow up rich."

Tony nearly tripped over a coconut as it rolled across his path. He looked around in irritation but couldn't see where it may have come from and no one seemed to be trying to retrieve it. "Do you think we should have got some coconuts?"

"You said they were overpriced," Rhodey reminded him. "And we've got the packaged stuff."

"Yeah, but." Tony bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to avoid stepping in a puddle of something sticky. "I've got plenty of money; it doesn't really matter how much things cost. And some people might prefer it fresh, unprocessed."

Rhodey stopped, sighing, placing his hands on his hips and regarding Tony with mild exasperation. "Do you want to go back and buy coconuts?"

Tony made face. "Not really, no."

"Then let's just get to the ship and make sure everything you did buy gets put away." Which of course meant Rhodey was going to put it away while complaining that Tony didn't do his share. Never mind that it was Tony's ship, Tony's cargo, and that Rhodey himself was Tony's employee.

Tony grinned at him. "Sounds good. I'll even carry some of the stuff in this time."

Rhodey quirked an eyebrow at him as he turned and started to walk again. "Really?"

"Don't question me or I'll change my mind." Tony intentionally bumped his shoulder into Rhodey's as they rounded the corner.

o0o

Steve ran his fingers through Bucky's hair—the motion was meditative, soothing, no doubt more so for Bucky who seemed to be asleep where he lay with his head in Steve's lap. Steve was leaning against the headboard of his bed, comfortable so long as he didn't try to move in any way that would upset his rib. He wasn't entirely sure how Bucky's head had ended up in his lap, but he didn't mind. Bucky had seemed so calm while Steve combed his hair—relaxed in a way he hadn't been since...well, maybe since before the war, actually. Bucky had always done so much for him, so if he could give even something small back, that was something he wanted to do. And maybe on some level Bucky did remember Steve combing his hair before, even if he didn't have a conscious memory of it.

"Captain Rogers." JARVIS' voice had an unexpected urgency to it. "Intruders—"

Bucky jolted awake almost as if electrocuted, sitting up and looking around warily, radiating tension.

"JARVIS?" Steve asked, but of course there was no response.

o0o

"It's my godsdamned ship, what do you mean I can't board?" Tony glared at the unrelenting airlock door as if it had personally offended him. Which it kinda had. "JARVIS?" he tried. "Come on buddy, open the door for me." But there was no response from his earpiece. He turned to look at Rhodey. "What the hell?"

Rhodey was frowning, worried. Tony was worried too; it's not like JARVIS was prone to just taking naps.

o0o

Steve stepped quietly into the hallway. He and Bucky had both put on their boots, but they could still move quietly enough that the average human wouldn't be able to detect them—they'd also both pulled on real pants instead of their sweats, and Steve had his full uniform on and his shield slung across his back. They really needed to get Bucky some more clothes sometime, but this port had been much more focused on fresh produce than on things like clothing.

The door had refused to open, locked down somehow, but Bucky had been able to open it with minimal damage to the door itself. Steve probably could have done it himself, but if they were going to have to fight off intruders, it was probably unwise to risk injuring his cracked rib before he even left his cabin.

He'd tried to contact Tony of course, but his phone had no service. Which really didn't happen with Stark Phones unless someone was tampering somewhere—Tony was very proud of his near-constant near-universal coverage. Steve had never seen his phone lose service before, anyway, so that by itself would have been a little odd even if JARVIS hadn't suddenly gone offline after mentioning intruders.

Bucky was quiet and alert, on guard and perhaps wishing for a weapon but fully prepared to fight bare-handed.

They'd almost made it to the weapon's locker before the first guy jumped them.

o0o

"And of course my phone suddenly has no service," Tony groused, shoving the useless technology back in his pocket and turning to slap his open hand against the airlock door. He turned to Rhodey, twisting his face into a grimace. "Yours?"

Rhodey shook his head, looking back up from his phone and letting out a breath. "Nothing. You think someone knocked out one of our satellites?"

"Not likely." Tony shook his head. "Possible," he allowed, "but unlikely." He leaned against the wall and shoved his hands through his hair. What was more likely was a much more local problem. Though...if someone had been able to successfully hack JARVIS, that would mean a hacker as good as Tony, and that didn't actually happen...did it? Natasha had tried to hack JARVIS once. It hadn't worked.

o0o

The intruder—a guy with the sides of his head shaved and a fuzz of reddish hair on top—fell and looked like he might stay down this time. Steve had stayed out of the fight, something for which Winter was grateful. Steve was probably more interested in getting the weapons than he was in keeping his already injured self safe, but it was the end result that was important. And besides, Winter could easily handle one regular baseline human, and it was gratifying to know Steve knew that. If they kept coming one at a time, this would be over before it began.

"Bucky!" Steve tossed him an ICER rifle, and Winter caught it one-handed then smoothly positioned it in his grip, at the ready. A quiet part of his brain registered the implied order to use non-lethal force if possible, layering that over the previous order to protect Steve. It would have been better if they'd had more time to go over mission parameters and objectives, specific orders, what was acceptable, what was expected, and what was ideal. But Winter could deal with just this. It's not like they really had much choice.

He took aim with the ICER and shot the already unconscious intruder in the head then looked to Steve who gave him a nod of grim approval.

o0o

"Should we maybe contact...someone?" Rhodey asked. "Some sort of local authorities?"

Tony sat slouched against the wall, tapping away on his phone—stupid thing still claimed to have no service, but he wasn't about to let that deter him. He was Tony freaking Stark. He'd invented phones. Well, Stark Phones anyway. And he had a pretty good idea of when one of his creations was lying to him. He replied without looking up, "Not if we can avoid it."

Letting out a loud breath, Rhodey sank down to crouch next to him. "Yeah, I get it. Never know who's HYDRA and all that."

Tony nodded distractedly. In all likelihood, very few people out of everyone in the galaxy were actually HYDRA, but when your list of people who you could be pretty sure _weren't_ HYDRA consisted of less than ten people, it was kinda hard to just go trusting random strangers.

o0o

Winter jogged through the hallways after the man he'd seen. Steve and he had split up and Steve had gone after the woman. She was smaller so she was probably less likely capable of seriously injuring Steve, but appearances could be deceiving. Still, when averages and likelihood were all Winter had to go on, he felt good about his own choice of target.

Rounding the corner he came face to face with the intruder, feeling an odd sensation in his gut as recognition hit him. Winter knew this man: Rumlow. Someone who had obeyed Winter's former master with a smug smirk and a cocky swagger, often working alongside Winter during the recent war. It was Rumlow who hesitated, though, lowering his weapon and frowning in confusion. "Winter?"

Winter's shot to his forehead dropped Rumlow to the floor, body limp and frown smoothed from his face.

"I answer to Bucky now," Winter told Rumlow's unconscious form.

o0o

The first woman had been quick and agile—she'd managed to get a few shots at Steve, all of which he blocked easily with his shield—but Steve's enhanced reflexes had allowed him to get a shot on her despite all her dodging and leaping about. She hadn't even been wearing any sort of armour, just something black and skin-tight. He'd left her where she fell to backtrack looking for Bucky when he very nearly ran bodily into a second woman who stepped out from an alcove and held up her hands in surrender.

"Hi," she said, eyes wide but smiling a little. "Is that an ICER?" She jerked her chin towards his pistol while keeping her hands up.

"Yeah." ICERS were still pretty new technology and the rounds were quite a bit more expensive than regular bullets, but Tony preferred them and so did Steve. It was a lot easier to feel good about subduing your enemies with non-lethal force.

She relaxed somewhat, smiling nervously. "Might as well go ahead and Ice me then, right? Unless I'm the last one, but I assume that'd be Victor."

Steve gave her a questioning look. "How many of you are there?"

"Five." Her eyes darted around furtively as if expecting an attack from someone else. "But I'm not much use in a fight...ever. So it's really more like four."

o0o

Steve rounded the corner, weapon in hand, but it wasn't the intruder that Steve saw first, that brought both his mind and body to a halt. It was Bucky: Bucky fighting some massive guy with a massive mane of wild blond hair who barely seemed to feel any of Bucky's blows, and he clearly wasn't holding back this time. It took a moment for the chilled realization to sink in that Bucky very much _had_ been holding back when he split Steve's lip and busted up his rib—the rib that still hurt, by the way, thanks very much for the reminder. But Steve might very well have been dead if Bucky hadn't been.

But _damn_: Bucky. Steve wanted to _draw_ Bucky like this—the smooth way his arms and legs moved almost as if he was dancing rather than fighting, the deadly precision of his blows, the sweat-glisten of his hair as it flipped across the back of his neck and about his face. Steve wanted to cover a thousand pages in a thousand sketchbooks. Wanted to properly learn how to use the 3D modelling software on the tablet Tony had given him, wanted to figure out how to animate in 3D so he could bring an image of this up in holo. And what a thoroughly inconvenient time for inspiration to strike, really—usually Steve was much better at compartmentalizing his art versus his day job. This was a _combat_ situation, after all. He should have been helping Bucky subdue the intruder, not staring slack-jawed like an imbecile and writing bad poetry in his head.

He took aim and shot the guy in the forehead, hoping it would at the very least distract him. Bucky's own ICER rifle was slung across his back, and Steve wasn't at all unsure that he'd tried it and found it ineffective. Which of course Steve's own shot was, but the shot did manage to startle and perhaps even confuse the man long enough for Bucky to get a good hit in with his metal hand, so Steve shot again, hoping they didn't run out of ammo before they figured out some way to get this guy down and keep him down.

Steve's brain finally slid the pieces together. The woman had said 'Victor,' and while the long blond hair was unfamiliar and the man wasn't exactly standing still and letting Steve get a good look at his face and Steve had only really met him briefly before, he was familiar in a way most people just weren't since Steve had woken up in the future. This was Victor Creed, and the ICERS were ineffective for the same reason he hadn't aged while Steve slept. Gifted, like his brother: regenerative healing. Dammit, this was _not_ going to be easy.

o0o

"What's going on?"

Tony looked up from his phone to see Happy standing over them looking confused. "Oh," Tony said. "We're locked out by some smart-ass hacker."

Happy frowned. "Someone _hacked_ JARVIS."

"Yeah..." Tony shrugged. "I didn't think it was possible either."

"Wait..." Happy looked at the airlock door. "Do you mean there are people, unauthorized people, on board our ship?"

Tony went back to tapping on his touchscreen. If he had a few more minutes, he might just be able to get this. "I really have no way of knowing, but I'd say it's probable."

"Are Rogers and Barnes still on board?" Happy asked.

"As far as we know," Rhodey answered. "Our phones are claiming 'no service,' so we can't call them either."

"Son of a... Stark Phones aren't supposed to do this!" Happy had no doubt just checked his own phone, and there was an edge of something that might be accusation in his voice.

"Really not my fault, Happy," Tony said, still typing. "Blame the hacker."

Happy breathed an irritated sigh. "Since you invented the phones _and_ JARVIS, I think it still counts as your fault for not making them secure enough."

"Not exactly helping," Rhodey muttered.

But Happy had a point. This was Tony's fault. But he was going to fix it. He just needed a bit more time.

o0o

Steve emptied his pistol into Creed's head, each shot allowing Bucky a brief opportunity, moments he was using skillfully and effectively. As Steve slid another clip into his gun, Creed got a swipe in on Bucky's face, bestial claws breaking the skin on Bucky's cheekbone, far too close to his eye. Clenching his jaw, Steve took steady aim and fired three shots into Creed's head in rapid succession. He only had one more clip on him, and ICER rounds weren't exactly readily available—though Tony could probably make more in the lab given time and the right materials. But Creed needed to go _down_, preferably before his companions started waking up. Steve fired three more times, and Bucky managed to trip Creed, and he fell to one knee. Steve shot him again, twice, and then Bucky had Creed face down on the floor with his arms held securely behind his back, snarling incoherently.

"Creed," Steve said, voice clear and commanding. "It's over. Stand _down_."

"Rogers?" Creed turned his head, face still pressed against the floor, to get a look at Steve. He let out a choking laugh. "Well, I'll be damned by _all_ the gods."

o0o

**This fic now has fanart! :D (*squeeing incoherently*) There really isn't a good way to link it here. :/ This is the best I can do:  
**

**An untitled collage by my amazing husband: ht*tp:/*/gastfyr.*tumblr.*com/post/91189013350/my-wonderful-dorky-amazing-husband-made-this**

**A photo manip for Ch 3 by atwojay (Esther Huffleclaw): ht*tp:/*/atwojay.*deviantart.*com/art/Glad-you-re-here-466861350**

**A photo manip for Ch 4 by atwojay (Esther Huffleclaw): ht*tp:/*/atwojay.*deviantart.*com/art/Like-a-slave-466799246**

**All three can be found on my Tumblr (linked on my profile) by searching for "chains fanwork."**

**Notes on characters and canon:**

**In case you were wondering, Victor Creed basically looks like a combination of the two actors who have played him in the X-Men films. Feel free to just picture whichever is your favourite, but keep in mind that he does have the long blond mane.**

**(The identities of the other intruders will be revealed in the next chapter - feel free to guess between now and then.)**

"**Gifted" here means "mutant." It's ****apparently more of a blanket term**** in the MCU, ****but here it specifically applies to individuals born with the X-Gene.**

o0o


	8. Interrogations

o0o

**Chapter 8: Interrogations**

Once all the intruders were properly restrained in holding cells—mostly makeshift 'cells' in a cargo bay since the Stark 1 only had the one actual cell, and that was only really big enough for one person, especially when that person was as big as Victor Creed—Winter let Steve lead him to the infirmary. He sat as instructed and waited obediently as Steve cleaned the wound on his face. It was the only wound he'd sustained, other than maybe a bit of bruising on the knuckles of his flesh hand.

Though Steve was tense, upset, his hands were gentle as ever. But he dropped the antibiotic ointment and squeezed his eyes shut, swearing softly under his breath as it clattered noisily to the floor, "Dammit."

"Are you angry with me?" Winter should have been able to dodge the hit, but it had been weeks since he'd had any practice with hand-to-hand—or any combat at all, because hitting Steve while he refused to fight back obviously didn't count. It wasn't an excuse, but it must be a factor.

"What?" Steve shot him a completely befuddled look as he stood up from retrieving the ointment. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would I be angry with you?"

Winter looked down, twisting his fingers together in front of him. "I was injured."

Steve took ahold of Winter's jaw and tilted his head up to look into his face again. His voice was steady and sure when he spoke, "I'm angry at the guy who hurt you, Bucky." He pressed a piece of damp gauze to the wound once more to soak up the slowly seeping blood. "You did good. Real good. I—" Steve swallowed and looked away briefly then looked back, smiling all soft and warm and wondrous. "I'm proud of you."

Winter couldn't help smiling back, though it kind of made his cheek hurt a little. And might not have been the best thing for stopping the bleeding.

"Careful," Steve cautioned as he dabbed the ointment over the wound.

Winter carefully stilled his features, and Steve applied a bandage, fingers brushing lightly against Winter's skin. Winter leaned into the touch, looking up at Steve and letting his eyes go wide and vulnerable. His former Master had never been gentle with him when he'd been injured, had been rougher instead, saying it was an important lesson. Steve was different; Steve was so much better. "You're a good Master, Steve."

Steve reacted as though he'd been struck, immediately pulling his hands back and clenching them into fists at his sides. "Dammit, Bucky—I'm not—" He turned away, clenching his jaw tightly and swallowing roughly. "I'm not your master."

Winter caught Steve's hand in his flesh one and looked up at him, trying to catch his eye. Maybe Steve was right; maybe he wasn't Winter's Master. "But I want you to be."

Steve turned back to look at him then, confusion painted across his face in broad strokes and conflict swirling in his eyes.

Winter exhaled, stroking his thumb against Steve's skin, and tried to explain, "For the longest time, I wasn't allowed to choose anything, and that felt normal, because it was all I knew, but now I've learned how important choices are. You're the Master I'd choose."

Steve's breath caught in his throat and everything in his eyes grew more intense as he looked down at Winter. His voice was rough and damp when he spoke. "Bucky..."

And of course that was the moment when Tony barged into the infirmary demanding to know which of the prisoners had managed to hack his AI, as if either Steve or Winter would actually know.

o0o

"So, what do we have here?" Tony indicated the holo displays, pictures and text moving in response to his gestures. Gods, it was good to have his tech obeying him again. "Georges Batroc, mercenary, born on Algiers Colony, _quite_ the criminal record—most of it piracy—never formally committed, one daughter: Marie Batroc—still a minor, location unknown."

"He might not technically _be_ HYDRA," Steve said. He was standing, arms folded across his chest, still wearing his full uniform with his shield slung across his back, watching and listening. Barnes was sitting against the wall, also watching and no doubt listening, and oddly well-behaved for a guy who'd so recently used the galaxy's golden boy as a punching bag—and much more recently defended Tony's ship quite successfully from intruders. Happy and Rhodey were there as well, eyes intent on the displays, but Steve stood unchallenged in the middle of the room, as if he were the one in charge and not Tony who was the captain and owner of the ship or Happy who was head of security. And Steve was still speaking, so Tony listened. "But he was working for them—I fought him recently, at the start of this war." Steve turned to look at Tony. "He was the leader of the group holding Sitwell hostage aboard the Lemurian Star."

Tony nodded. Sitwell himself being HYDRA didn't make Batroc's HYDRA status any less likely; HYDRA just did things like that. "Noted: probably HYDRA—do not trust." He tapped the appropriate instructions into his Stark Phone then looked back up at the holo, finding the info on the next intruder. "Victor Creed aka 'Sabretooth,' formerly of Weapon X, born on Nouveau Canada _ages_ ago, fought alongside _you_, Cap, in the _First_ SHIELD-HYDRA War." He turned to Steve, raising an eyebrow in question. "You know him?"

Steve nodded. "We've met. I knew his brother, Logan Howlett."

Tony raised his eyebrow further as he studied the live feed from Creed's cell. "Guy doesn't look a day over forty-five—they make a few more supersoldiers and not tell me?" It wasn't _too_ strange, though, for brothers to have different last names, but of course it usually indicated step, half, foster, or some other non-standard family makeup.

Steve shook his head. "Logan was one of the Gifted; he could heal from anything, faster than me—quite a lot faster than me. I assume his brother is Gifted as well...considering."

"Right." Tony nodded. That's often how the Gifted thing worked, after all. And Creed had reportedly been nearly immune to the effects of ICERS. "So...HYDRA, not, or we have no idea?"

Steve shrugged. "I'd put money on _Logan_ not being HYDRA, assuming he's still around. But Creed...I can't help you there either way."

"Not a problem," Tony said, making a note for 'we have no idea.' "Though I suppose we at least know he was fighting on the SHIELD side way back when."

Steve nodded. "Assuming that means anything."

Tony blew air out through his lips. "Exactly." He turned his attention back to the display. "Okay, so: Felicia Hardy aka 'Black Cat,' recently of Oscorp, more recently a freelance thief, born on NYC Station...has been romantically linked with both Harry Osborn and Peter Parker."

"Peter Parker?" Steve shot Tony a questioning look, had probably heard the name before.

"Yeah; friend of mine; good kid." Peter had done some intern work with Bruce and Tony at the Tower but had been away when the war broke out. Tony hadn't heard from him but hoped he was okay. Kid was resourceful. There was a good chance. Also, Tony hoped, a good chance he wasn't actually HYDRA. Tony took a breath. "Moving on: Brock Rumlow aka 'Crossbones.'" Tony snorted—a pirate calling himself 'Crossbones' was about as obvious as 'Sparrow' or 'Jolly Roger.' "SHIELD, STRIKE division, apparently."

"He's HYDRA," Steve supplied. "Fought alongside me and Natasha only to turn on us."

"All right then." Tony tapped on his phone. "Filing under 'asshole.'" He looked back at the holo. "Now this last one..." He paused, scratching his head. "I've got nothing." He blew out an irritated breath. "The facial recognition is saying she doesn't exist, and that just doesn't _happen_."

On the live feed from the cell—it was technically a cargo bay partitioned off into makeshift cells, since Creed was in their only real cell—she lay curled on her side, her long hair pooled about her head. She was young—probably early to mid twenties—and she had tan skin with medium brown hair. And she was pretty in a sort of delicate way, contrasting with her companions. And, no, it _wasn't_ creepy to watch her while she was unconscious. You know what was creepy? Hacking into other people's computers and breaking into their ships. Now that Tony had his technology up and running again, he was damn well going to use it to keep tabs on the people who'd invited themselves onto his ship and then locked him out.

"She's the one who surrendered, but she didn't tell me her name." Steve turned toward Tony and raised an eyebrow. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask her?"

Tony nodded. He planned to ask all of them a few questions.

"But what should we do with them?" Happy asked. "Should we...turn them over to local authorities?"

Tony grimaced. "No. Not a chance. At least two of these guys are very probably HYDRA, and one of them was able to hack JARVIS, so I'm very not comfortable letting them out of my sight. Not when half the galaxy's 'local authorities' are very likely HYDRA themselves."

Rhodey nodded. "Exactly. Who knows what sort of intel they might have gathered on us that they'd take back to their little HYDRA friends." He didn't glance at Barnes; he didn't have to.

Happy breathed out a sigh. "Okay then. So we're going to need an actual prison at the Tower." He shot Tony a small grin. "I suppose it was inevitable."

Tony nodded. It was probably a little late, actually.

o0o

Since Creed was still conscious, he was the first one they questioned. Bucky didn't want to let Steve go into Creed's cell alone—of course he didn't; he was Bucky, protective as ever. Heck, no one wanted to let Steve go in alone, but at least they all agreed he was the logical choice to question Creed. Happy and Rhodey joined Bucky right outside the door armed with ICER rifles—three shots in rapid succession had seemed to have some effect earlier, so three simultaneous shots would probably be even more effective. Not that there'd be any need to find out. Steve shook his head as he opened the door, really doubting Creed would attack him—he'd gone quietly enough earlier once he'd recognized Steve. And once he'd been face-down on the floor with Bucky's knee on his back.

"Heard you died." Creed leaned back against the wall of the cell, arms folded. They hadn't bothered to cuff him, since Steve was pretty sure he'd be able to break any of the cuffs they had on board.

Steve nodded as the door slid shut behind him. "Most people heard that."

Creed snorted softly. "Heard you did the Jesus thing an' came back too."

Steve leaned his shoulder against the wall, his own arms folded, levelling his gaze at Creed. "What do you know about Jesus, Creed?"

Creed shrugged. "Enough. Know he was a mutant, like me. That guy could heal anyone just by touching them—some say with his blood, too. Walked on water and turned it into wine."

"You still say 'mutant'?" Steve's brow furrowed. That was a word he hadn't heard in a while. "I woke up in the future and they told me that was rude—we say 'Gifted' now."

Creed snorted. "Yeah, all you baselines are so concerned about hurting our feelings. Xavier still says 'mutant.' Magneto says 'mutant.' Mystique says, 'mutant and proud.' What'd you think the 'M' in 'Asteroid M' stood for, anyway?"

Steve hadn't thought much about it, but he'd sort of assumed it stood for 'Magneto.' He didn't say anything.

Creed shook his head. "Words are only rude if you make 'em rude, Rogers. Like if you call a little girl a little girl; it's only rude if you make it rude—otherwise it's just true."

That did make sense, though it was entirely possible that not all Gifted felt the same way. But that wasn't why he was here, talking to Creed. "Would you consider it rude if I asked you how long you've been HYDRA?"

Creed snorted again, rolling his eyes. "You mean like Rumlow? He's been whining like a snot-nosed kid this whole time about how he was 'too good' for HYDRA anyway, should never have joined up, never really believed in the whole philosophy—damn brat's so godsdamn annoying." Creed shook his head, grunting in disgust. "He'd probably shut up more if Batroc wasn't such a sympathetic ear, always agreeing how he was too good for HYDRA too, how they betrayed him and all that." He looked Steve in the eye. "I ain't HYDRA, Rogers. Never had much use for SHIELD other than the paycheck they'd give me for killing people—but HYDRA? They're all about 'order' and such bullshit and expect you to be _covert_. That ain't my style."

It wasn't proof, of course, but maybe it was enough. It's not like there was any way to prove it one way or the other. "I hope you're not offended if we still keep you in this cell for now."

Creed shook his head. "Nope. I'd be a bit confused, actually, if you let me out after I barged onto your ship and started beating up your friends."

o0o

Unsurprisingly, Rumlow was the first Iced intruder to awaken. It would have been him or Batroc, and Steve had said Batroc was unconscious before they even Iced him.

"You wanna talk to this one too?" Tony asked Steve. Too many of these pirates seemed to have some personal connection to him. It was a little unsettling.

"Not particularly." Steve offered Tony a rueful smile. "But I will."

"I could talk to him," Tony offered. He wouldn't mind, really. Talking was something he was usually good at.

"Nah." Steve shook his head. "I think it kinda has to be me."

"Fine, do all the work." Tony huffed, running his fingers through his hair. Trust Steve, really. Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Just remember; I don't even pay you."

"Why don't you pay him?" Happy cut in. "I mean, I'd love to have him on my staff." He turned to Steve. "I'm serious."

"He and Barnes did take out all five pirates by themselves," Rhodey pointed out, turning to nod at both men in turn.

"I appreciate that, Happy," Steve said, nodding his acknowledgement. "And I'll think about it."

"Take all the time you need," Happy said. "Offer's pretty much open forever."

Tony wasn't sure how he felt about the idea of having the great hero of all the wars in living memory on his payroll, but he couldn't deny he felt better with Steve watching his back. The guy had issues, sure, and maybe he needed a keeper more than Tony did sometimes, but he was still the most trustworthy person Tony had ever met.

Sometimes, it was still difficult to believe he was real. Okay, maybe most of the time, and yet there he was.

o0o

"The one who shot me," Rumlow said as soon as the door closed behind Steve. "Winter."

"His name is James Buchanan Barnes," Steve corrected. "Or just Bucky."

Rumlow narrowed his eyes, a look of disbelief on his face. He shook his head, rolling his shoulders and turning his head to look at Steve. "Whatever. It doesn't matter what you call him. He's—do you have any godsdamn clue how dangerous he is?" Steve felt he had a pretty good idea, actually. "And you just let him run around loose..."

Steve narrowed his eyes at him, annoyed. "Did you have a point?"

"I'm trying to help you out here, Rogers." Rumlow turned fully to face Steve, spreading his hands at his sides.

Steve snorted softly. "I'm no longer interested in the sort of 'help' you have to offer."

"Oh, come on, Cap." Rumlow rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry I tried to take over your ship—or, Stark's ship, or whatever. I'm a pirate now, okay? You gotta admit that's a step up from HYDRA."

Steve just looked at him, because he didn't have to admit any such thing. Especially when it was entirely possible to be both at the same time.

"I'm—look, I get that you're angry about...what happened." 'Angry' wasn't exactly the best word for it, actually, but Steve didn't interrupt. "But right now I'm on your side." Rumlow grinned, a little hesitant and maybe a bit hopeful. "Really." His face grew more serious. "And I'm telling you you can't trust Winter—do you have even the slightest idea who he _is_? I was one of HYDRA's goons, but he's HYDRA's _F__ist_."

Steve folded his arms and leaned his back against the wall. "I've known him a bit longer than you have, Rumlow." If this guy thought he could tell Steve about his best and oldest friend... "I've known him my whole life."

Rumlow shook his head. "No, no." He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back onto his heels. "You know the guy he _used to be_, the one HYDRA ripped out." He pointed toward the door, his whole arm indicating Bucky's general direction. "What they put in him, you have no idea." His arm fell back to his side. "You don't think he could play you?" He rubbed at his stubbly jaw. "Hell, _I_ played you, and he's at least ten times better than I ever was."

"You're right," Steve admitted. "You did play me." He shrugged. "Sometimes I put my trust in the wrong people. But that doesn't mean I stop trusting altogether."

Rumlow made a rough sound in his throat and rubbed his hand over his mouth. "After everything...every godsdamned thing that's happened, you still trust people?" He shook his head, spreading his hands at his sides. "How?"

Steve's lips turned up at one side. "I have faith."

Rumlow's eyes bulged. "Holy fucking _pantheons_ of gods—this—this is some sort of _religious_ thing for you? Like, is that how your—your mind works? You just trust in your god to take care of you?" He made a rough, disbelieving sound, shaking his head. "Well, I hate to be the one to point this out, but he seems to be doing a pretty fucking terrible job so far, unless you somehow hadn't noticed." He looked away in disgust. "So maybe Winter's not the only very stupid thing you've put your faith in."

Steve quietly took a few breaths, standing still against the wall. He hadn't expected Rumlow to understand, but human souls couldn't just be ripped out and replaced with programming—maybe it wasn't something he could prove, something Bruce and Tony could demonstrate scientifically, but that didn't change what was true. And that wasn't why he was here, anyway. "If we're not going to discuss your current loyalty to HYDRA, I think I'm wasting my time here." He turned to go.

"No, wait." Rumlow caught his arm. "I don't—I'm _not_ loyal to HYDRA."

Steve looked down at Rumlow's hand on his arm, and he pulled it away guiltily.

"Batroc, Sabretooth, Black Cat—any of them could tell you that," Rumlow continued. "HYDRA—" He exhaled, looking down. "It was a stupid decision, ever joining up, but once you're in, it's hard to get out, you know?" He glanced up at Steve, eyes widening, vulnerability utterly incongruous on his face. "I was really glad you won, that you took them down; it gave me the chance to get away, and I've done that, and I'd _never_ go back. If you'd just... I know how to fight, and I could use that to help you and your friends. Don't I deserve another chance?"

Steve shook his head. "It doesn't really matter what you deserve, Rumlow." And it didn't, because Steve couldn't trust him not to stab him literally in the back again—or worse, go after Bucky whom he obviously perceived as a serious threat. Keeping him locked up indefinitely seemed impractical, but it was the most practical option they had.

"You're the one I should have been loyal to all along," Rumlow said, an edge of desperation in his voice.

"That's right," Steve agreed as the door closed between them.

o0o

Watching the interrogation on the live feed, Tony had to wonder who exactly within HYDRA had owned Barnes that he'd apparently been some important 'Fist' of the organization. Thinking about it, Tony was pretty sure Barnes had never even actually said his former owner had been HYDRA, but it had been pretty obvious around the time he'd asked to have the tracker removed.

He glanced over at Barnes, wondering if maybe he should just ask him about it. But...this probably wasn't the best time. And Steve was pretty protective of his friend—understandably, of course—so it would probably be best to clear it with him before starting anything that might look or sound like an interrogation.

He made a mental note to talk about this later. It was probably important.

o0o

When Steve came back out of Rumlow's cell, he walked right over to Winter and put his hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him. He didn't say anything; he didn't have to. Winter smiled back, grateful.

It's not like Rumlow had lied, precisely; Winter had been the Fist of HYDRA, and he was in fact very dangerous.

But he was Steve's now. Everything was different.

o0o

The next to wake was Felicia Hardy. Since Steve didn't actually have any personal connection with her—making her a bit of an anomaly, actually—Tony got to interrogate her himself.

"Hi," he said, offering a polite smile as the door closed behind him. "Tony Stark, owner and captain of the ship you so recently failed to...uh, whatever you were trying to do...with my ship."

The corner of her lips quirked up. "It's truly a pleasure to meet the famous Tony Stark." Rising, she offered him a handshake. "I'm Felicia." The black leather outfit she wore was bizarre—apparently designed much more for appearance than practicality—not that Tony was complaining. At all.

"Hardy," Tony added, accepting the handshake. "Yeah, I know; once I got my tech up and working again...well, I had your educational and dental records before you even regained consciousness." The Targaryen blonde hair was apparently natural, though she'd been dying it during her time at Oscorp—and she didn't have the purple eyes to match; just blue-green ones. Pretty, though.

She pouted, rueful and intentionally attractive. "I guess the mask didn't really help..."

That thing around her eyes was meant to be a mask? Tony offered her a sympathetic grimace.

She sighed, folding her arms and leaning against the wall.

"So," Tony said. "What's the deal with you and HYDRA, anyway?"

"I don't know anything about HYDRA," she responded, shaking her head so her bangs fell across her forehead. "I'm just a thief." She wrinkled her nose. "That Crossbones guy is HYDRA...or, was. Batroc too—worked for them, anyway. Neither of them seem too happy with HYDRA since everything fell apart, though. I suppose..." She laughed softly, looking away. "It kinda does look bad to be hanging around with them, considering." She looked back, meeting Tony's gaze. "So yeah, I get you being suspicious. I'd be suspicious too." She shrugged.

It was too bad they had to keep her locked up; she was pretty hot, and, well...this really wasn't the time. Obviously.

o0o

By the time Tony was done talking to Hardy, the woman who'd surrendered was awake and calmly sitting up against the wall with her knees pulled up to her chest. Since he'd already had one conversation with her—and it had gone reasonably well, considering—Steve figured he might as well be the one to talk to her.

No one protested this time, though Bucky did give his hand a tight squeeze before reluctantly letting him go. It wasn't easy for Bucky, being separated from Steve, especially not after all that had happened to him—and he could still watch the live feed, of course, but it wasn't quite the same. Bucky wasn't complaining, but Steve could see the weariness in the lines around his eyes and the set of his shoulders. It would be good to get back to their cabin soon.

"Hello again," Steve said as he entered the cell.

"Hey." Standing up, the woman offered what looked like a genuine smile.

"We didn't get a chance to be properly introduced." Steve returned her smile with one of his own. "I'm Steve—Steve Rogers."

Grinning broadly, she offered him a handshake. Her dark brown eyes held that star-struck look Steve didn't think he'd ever get quite used to seeing. "It is an honour to meet you, Captain Rogers."

Steve accepted the handshake. It wasn't the first time—not by far—that Steve had met someone who knew of him when he had no idea who they were, but still. The feeling was always odd. He was about to ask for her name, when she gave it.

"Skye." She shrugged, smiling and pushing her hair behind her ear.

"Skye...?" Most people did tend to have more than just one name.

"Just Skye—the one name." She nodded, expression saying she was used to people questioning her on that, though maybe she didn't really mind.

"Like Thor?"

Her smile was lopsided, maybe a little smug. "Technically, Thor's surname is Odinson."

"Right." Steve had known that, just...forgotten. It's not like Thor ever used any name other than 'Thor.' "Asgardian names are..."

"Confusing." She nodded. "For us, anyway; I assume they're easier if you grow up in that culture."

Steve nodded as well then took a breath—there was no way around the awkwardness, and the fact that she seemed so friendly and generally pleasant wasn't actually helping. "Look, I kind of need to ask you why you're working for HYDRA."

"I'm not." Her answer was quick, and then she made a face that was part amused and part chagrined. "Though of course if I was, I'd still say that..."

Exactly. Steve sighed. What could they do to be sure, really?

She blew out air through her lips and leaned against the wall, folding her arms across her chest. "I was actually SHIELD, kinda. I mean, I was new, in training. But my SO turned out to be HYDRA..." She grimaced.

"I'm sorry." That couldn't have been easy.

"Yup." She nodded, pressing her lips together in something like a grim smile. "I mean, he tried to recruit me, but, screw that."

"Yeah." Steve exhaled. "So you decided to turn pirate instead?"

She grinned crookedly. "Totally." Then she looked away, suddenly awkward again. "It's not exactly new for me; I used to be Rising Tide."

She said it as if she expected Steve to trust her less at the revelation, but he'd never heard of the organization. "And that's bad?"

"No, no." She shook her head quickly. "Well, not really." She grimaced. "I mean, not exactly. We weren't supposed to be." She sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. "But our leader turned out to be...well, less of an idealist than we all thought."

"I'm sorry," Steve said again. He knew a little of what that was like, actually, for people he looked up to and respected to let him down. For people he trusted to betray him.

"Hey, I'll be okay." She offered him a hesitant smile. "I might not always land on my feet, but as long as I pick myself back up that's what's important, right?"

Steve nodded. "That's right." That _was_ what was important.

o0o

**Notes on characters and canon:**

**Skye is from 'Agents of SHIELD.'**

**Felicia Hardy, aka "Black Cat," appears in 'The Amazing Spider-Man 2,' but is here based more on her appearance in 'The Spectacular Spider-Man' animated series.**

o0o


	9. Somewhere He Had Never Left

o0o

**Chapter 9: Somewhere He Had Never Left**

"So," Happy said. "We've talked to four of the five now, and what do we know?" Batroc was still out cold, having already had a head injury—courtesy of Barnes, resident expert in giving injuries—before being Iced.

"Not a lot," Rhodey answered, folding his arms, expression grim. "They all _say_ they're not HYDRA, though of course Rumlow has to admit that he has been, and quite recently."

Steve nodded. "Of the four, he's still the one I'm least inclined to trust."

"Really?" Tony raised his eyebrows. "Even after that whole, 'give me another chance, Cap, I can be good, _honest_' speech?" Tony was so glad he had that recorded. _So_ glad.

Steve gave him a deliberate, blank look. "I'm not quite as gullible as you think, Stark."

Tony laughed, shaking his head. "I was half expecting him to declare his undying love for you, fall on his knees, kiss your hand, and beg forgiveness."

Steve raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Rhodey laughed. "Either he has a crush on you, Cap, or that was part of the act—you didn't pick up on that?"

Steve didn't say anything. But of course he hadn't picked up on that—he hadn't picked up on Barnes' crush, and that one was about a thousand times more obvious. And also honest. Probably.

Tony glanced briefly at Barnes who was still sitting against the wall, arms folded across his chest. Poor guy looked exhausted. And very much not caring about HYDRA goons who might have crushes—feigned or otherwise—on his boyfriend.

Tony turned to Happy. "We could really use a telepath, but I suppose the next best thing would be a lie detector." He frowned, thoughtful. "Give me and Bruce a few days, and we can throw something together, but the testing and fine-tuning process could take a lot longer." He scratched his head. "And it's not like they're ever impossible to beat." Gods, they really could use a telepath. But the Gifted were circling their wagons—understandably, but still. It was a bit of a surprise to see Creed out associating with baselines, but then he didn't really seem the type to fall in anyone's line or hide behind a barricade when there was fighting going on. And of course the Wakandans were doing essentially the same thing as the Gifted, perhaps less understandably—but...that was just a cultural thing for them. Or something. Maybe it was a cultural thing for the Gifted as well. Tony didn't pretend to understand. He wondered if it was ever possible to fool a telepath.

Happy was nodding. "Yeah, I guess a lie detector would be something, anyway."

It would give them something other than gut feelings to go on, even if it still wasn't perfect. Speaking of gut feelings, though... Tony turned to Steve. "So you said Rumlow's the one you're least likely to trust—care to let us know who ranks best for you?" Tony was thinking Skye, oddly enough, despite her suspicious lack of a last name and the fact that she was most certainly the one who'd hacked JARVIS, given her background with the Rising Tide and all...wait, what was _up_ with that? No, not Skye: Hardy. That's who Tony would trust. Probably. At least she was upfront about being a thief. Oh hell, how could he trust _any_ of them?

"Creed," Steve answered, and everyone, including Barnes—who hadn't been participating in or even reacting to the conversation—turned to stare at him. Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying let him out of the cell or anything, but he's the one I'd peg as least likely to be HYDRA: doesn't mean he's a nice guy, and doesn't mean he's least likely to try to kill us if he thinks it'd be beneficial to him." Steve took a breath and let it out. "After him, I'd say Skye."

Tony frowned. That was...interesting? "Why her?"

Steve shrugged. "She just seems...good? A good person, I mean." He looked away, eyes thoughtful. "Even when I trusted Rumlow as an ally, I never really got that sense from him. He did the job, or at least he always seemed to, but..." He made a soft, frustrated sound, then looked at Tony. "I'm not sure I can explain it; I guess...I just _want_ to trust her." He looked around at the others. "I don't know—who would you all say is least likely to be HYDRA?"

"I agree with Cap," Happy said, nodding at Steve. "Creed isn't someone I'd want wandering around loose, but he's probably not HYDRA."

"I'd go with Skye," Rhodey said. "It's not a lot to go on, but she surrendered willingly, and...I guess it's just like you said, Cap." He nodded to Steve as well. "She just seems like a good person." He shrugged. "Current piracy and the Rising Tide aside."

"I'd pick Hardy myself," Tony said, ignoring the knowing grin Rhodey was at least pretending to try to hide by ducking his head. "After her, I suppose Skye." Bugger that his instincts were clamouring for it to be the other way around. And bugger anyone who thought he was thinking with his dick, because Rumlow was actually pretty hot—physically, anyway—and even Creed was scoring in the 'yes, I would' column of Tony's personal...list...thing. The claws were definitely _not_ a deterrent—y'know, so long as the guy understood the concept of a safeword. But anyway... "Your arguments about Creed do make sense, though." He nodded at Rogers. "And of course you know him better than any of us do." He grinned, sharp. "I suppose we're all in agreement that Rumlow's the very bottom of the very bottom barrel, and this Batroc guy is about one rung on the lying liar ladder above that. Even without actually talking to him."

Happy and Rhodey nodded.

Steve looked at Barnes and it took a while for Barnes to realize Steve was waiting for an opinion from him, and then he looked surprised and a little uncomfortable.

"I agree about Rumlow," Barnes said at last. "I don't know anything about Batroc." He looked at Steve, all hesitance and 'Is this okay; is this what you want?' and Tony's heart constricted roughly. But Steve gave Barnes a small nod, so he continued, "And all I know about Creed is that he's a dangerous opponent. I don't know anything about Skye or Hardy. I—" He glanced at the displays then back at Steve. "I mean, all I know is what I've seen here."

Barnes looked so lost and Tony was almost sure he was about to ask if he needed to have an opinion, if Steve wanted him to have an opinion, but Steve just nodded and said, "Thanks, Buck," and Barnes visibly relaxed, offering Steve a hesitant half-smile.

And, okay, maybe that wasn't the, uh, healthiest interaction Tony had ever witnessed, but who was he to judge? No doubt Barnes still had a bunch of crap conditioning to get over, and gods knew they'd all had a long day. "Well," Tony said, looking at the assembled group and smiling. "I'm sure we're all tired, so let's get some food and some sleep—I _was_ going to invite everyone to my cabin for daiquiris, but I guess we can postpone that for tomorrow or something."

Steve's brow creased with concern. "Should someone keep an eye on Batroc?" And no doubt the idiot would volunteer himself, given the chance.

"Nope." Tony shook his head, decisively. Bloody freaking pirates who were probably HYDRA didn't need anyone fussing over them. "I talked to Bruce—you know, when you were having your little chats with our guests—and he said it should be fine to just leave him as is. Bruce can't do anything remotely, anyway, so yeah. And JARVIS can keep an eye on his vitals, right, J?"

"Of course, sir."

Steve still looked worried. "We're going to at least leave him some food and water in case he wakes up, right?"

"Well, it's not like they deserve it," Tony grumbled, "but I suppose we have to feed them all."

o0o

Happy settled into the role of jailer happily enough—and Tony probably found that pun far too amusing—visiting each cell in turn to introduce himself and give instructions on practical things like how to contact JARVIS if they needed medical attention or whatever and delivering blankets, bottled water, protein bars, dried fruit, and fresh apples. Tony wasn't about to authorize giving them bananas, but then no one even suggested it.

It wasn't surprising that Hardy tried to flirt with Happy, nor was it surprising that he ignored it. Everyone else just seemed varying degrees of thankful.

Tony yawned, rubbing his eyes as he looked away from the live feed. It was about time he got to bed.

There weren't exactly convenient bathroom facilities in the makeshift cells, but maybe the pirates should have thought of that before attacking his ship. Tony wasn't about to feel bad for them. And of course, this was only temporary; Happy would organize something more humane for them when they got back to the Tower.

And maybe they'd put some of them in cabins before then—locked in, of course. But sort of a reward for good behaviour or something.

o0o

"I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable earlier," Bucky said as the door of their cabin slid shut behind them. They'd stopped for a quick dinner in the mess—just some sandwiches Steve had thrown together. Rhodey had been there too and had made a sandwich of his own, but no one had felt up to much conversation.

Steve frowned at Bucky, confused. He couldn't figure out what he might mean.

"In the infirmary," Bucky clarified, sitting in the desk chair to pull off his boots, and oh. Right. That. "I shouldn't have said anything; it upset you."

Steve sighed, seating himself on the edge of his bed to pull off his own boots. "As I said before, if you want to say something to me, then I want you to say it. Sometimes that might make me uncomfortable if I'm not exactly expecting it, if I'm not sure how to react, but that doesn't mean you should hold back."

Bucky's smile was sad, even wistful, as he looked back at Steve while tucking his boots into the corner, and Steve wondered what the hell he was supposed to say or do to make this right. He couldn't be Bucky's _master_. Bucky was free and should be free, just like every other sentient lifeform should be free. "I'm going to take a shower," Bucky said, pointing towards the bathroom, "unless you'd like to go first."

"No, that's—" Steve waved him off. "You go ahead."

Bucky nodded and headed for the bathroom, and Steve stared unseeing down at his hands. Maybe it would help to have time to think. But he couldn't imagine how any amount of time would really change anything. Maybe in time Bucky would come to understand that he didn't need a master. But how long might that take? And if this was something familiar that would help Bucky feel safe...

"Bucky, wait," Steve called, and Bucky turned back just before he would have walked through the door, expression expectant. "Maybe I could—" Steve looked away, trying not to blush; he didn't want Bucky to feel guilty about making him uncomfortable. Swallowing, he looked back at his friend. "I could be your CO again, if—if that's..." He didn't want to say 'enough' or any variation on 'instead.' "...okay."

"Sure, Steve." Bucky's smile was soft and warm. "That'd be fine."

o0o

Winter shook his head as he adjusted the water temperature and stood under the running water. He'd taken the bandage off his face from where Creed had scratched him, and it was almost fully healed now, so he wouldn't need another one.

But—he shook his head under the hot spray—trust Steve to complicate everything. He couldn't just be Winter's Master, couldn't be something Winter _understood_. Maybe 'CO' could essentially mean the same thing—'Commanding Officer' did imply one who gave orders—and maybe it could mean the same to Winter, but he doubted it could ever mean the same to Steve.

But Steve was trying. He was trying so hard to do and be what Winter needed, and it was obvious that wasn't always easy for him. And Winter could only love him more for trying, earnest and honest and so often confused. But it was so frustratingly complicated, and Winter just wanted it to be easy. He longed for the simplicity of just following orders without having to think or question or consider things like his own pointless preferences. A rough laugh escaped his throat as he considered how Steve might react if he explained how _that_ was his preference.

But really, truly, _Steve_ was his preference. And that wasn't simple or straightforward like a choice between an apple and an orange—it had taken a while, actually, but he now understood that he usually preferred oranges, but sometimes he would rather have an apple. Everything about Steve was complicated in a way that should have been terrifying—and was, actually—but still filled him with longing to know more, to experience more. It was an ache in his chest, the feeling of a home he didn't remember, and it was all muddled and sharp—it was the heat and roar of an inferno so intense it barely gave any smoke. And maybe it wasn't even worth it, but he _wanted_. This was a dangerous thing Steve had taught him, this wanting.

As he ran his fingers through his hair to scrub the sweat off his scalp, he remembered Steve's hands in his hair. That had been wonderful, and he wanted that again.

He wanted a lot of things, but...that was something Steve had allowed him. Maybe he'd allow it again.

o0o

When Steve was done his shower, Bucky was sitting on the edge of the bed, turning a comb idly in his hands. He looked up at Steve, eyes wide with vulnerability—it was an expression Steve was starting to get used to seeing on his friend's face. "Could you...?" Bucky held the comb out. "Please?"

"Of course." Steve took the offered comb and settled himself on the bed next to Bucky. Maybe the metal hand made it more difficult for Bucky to do it himself, but the reasons didn't really matter: this was something Bucky wanted, something Steve could do for him. Steve brushed one finger near the pink mark that was all that was left of the wound Creed had given him. "I'm glad your face is healing well."

"Yeah, me too." Bucky offered him a hesitant half-smile.

As Bucky relaxed under Steve's hands, Steve was struck with the guilty realization that he still hadn't managed to bring up the kiss. That was something he was supposed to talk about with Bucky, or so Bruce had said. He rolled the idea around in his mind for a bit, wondering if now would be a good time to bring it up. Bucky was pretty relaxed, so...maybe? It didn't seem likely that there'd be a better time, at least not soon. He cleared his throat. "Hey, Buck?"

"Hmm?" Bucky blinked sleepily at him.

And, God, of course he'd be sleepy; he'd fought off three of the five intruders nearly on his own—and one of the two Steve had taken out had surrendered, so that didn't really count, actually. Bucky was still recovering from, well, _everything_, too. They'd had a couple of days to laze about and just goof off, but it would take more than that for Bucky to fully recover, even just physically, from what he'd been through. "You did good today, Bucky."

Bucky grinned, half-closed eyes filled with warmth. "You helped."

Steve remembered how he'd gotten distracted and waited too long to help Bucky, and blushed slightly, chuckling self-consciously, as he ran the comb through the hair at the back of Bucky's neck. He really hadn't been drawing much lately, but that could wait for sometime when he wasn't tired as hell. Even if he had little reason to be tired. "I guess I did, a bit."

"Don't think I could have taken Creed down alone," Bucky admitted, shrugging.

And that just made Steve feel more guilty, but he tried to sound confident and calm as he said, "We always did work better as a team," because it was true. There were actually very few tangles in Bucky's hair, it having been combed so thoroughly so recently, and Steve was basically combing through hair he'd already combed. "I, uh, guess we're done here."

"Thanks, Steve." Bucky offered him a grateful smile.

"Hey, anytime." Steve was struck with the sudden sharp desire to kiss Bucky's forehead, but...he really couldn't do that without first talking about that _other_ kiss. And first they needed to sleep.

o0o

Steve was walking through the unsteady, unending cars of a train, looking for Bucky. The train ran between two settlements on a planet that had once been important; there had been a mission. But Bucky was the only objective now. The cold sounds of wind filled Steve's ears and the metallic grinding of the wheels against the tracks hurt his teeth. His head was filled with thick syrup. He was somewhere he had never been. He was somewhere he had never left.

Phantoms he couldn't clearly see were shooting at him, but he blocked the shots with his shield and returned fire with the pistol in his hand. Regular rounds—ICERs hadn't been invented—but the phantoms didn't die. Or even bleed.

One stabbed him from behind with a stun baton, breathing, "It's nothing personal," by his ear.

But when Steve turned and shot him, his eyes were cold and blue and hurt, and it was Bucky. And Bucky's eyes were frosting over like a winter windowpane, and his lips were stained blue as a Jotun's. And his hands were empty, the weapon he'd had just no longer there.

"Bucky!" Steve tried to yell, but his voice was a whisper, straining into nothing. He tried to run to his friend, but his legs were slow and unresponsive—as though immersed in freezing water.

Bucky was falling, so Steve leaped after him. It was the only thing he ever did, the only thing he ever could.

Steve was in some sort of large building with many corridors, its walls and floor all indistinct brown, like rust. There were orange-red sparks floating in the air and blackish smoke pooling around corners and through gaping door-frames. He had to find Bucky. Had to find Bucky before...

There he was, slumped against a wall, but that wasn't right—shouldn't he be laid out on a table? But Bucky was bleeding, and that was all that mattered. Steve fell to his knees at his side, his hands covered in Bucky's blood as it kept pouring from the massive gash in his neck.

"Please," Steve begged. "Stay with me."

"'S'all right, Steve." Bucky turned lethargic eyes on him, offering a drowsy smile. "I'm okay; don't worry." He lifted one arm to weakly brush at Steve's face with the backs of his fingers. "'M always okay."

"But you're—" Steve tried to cover the wound with both of his hands, tired to hold slippery skin together with shaking fingers. "Please don't leave me, Buck. Please."

"Couldn't leave you," Bucky groused, turning his head away and hunching his shoulders. Blood soaked his uniform jacket till it was shiny like a bowl of smashed cherries. "Wouldn't know how." He leaned against Steve, body limp as a puppet with all its strings cut. "'M right here, Stevie." Blood was pouring from his mouth then, but he didn't seem to notice. "'M fine..."

"Bucky, _please_," Steve begged, but Bucky was _gone_, and Steve was alone in a puddle of dark red blood that glistened with the uncaring light of the fires. Steve couldn't breathe.

Howard was saying, "I'm sorry about your friend," but Steve couldn't breathe.

He was surrounded by fire, and his lungs were freezing, and he had to find Bucky. "I have to find him—don't you understand?" he screamed, but Howard didn't understand. Everyone just stared at him as he stood there with blood dripping from his hands and ice in his lungs and sparks landing in his hair, and none of them understood: Howard, Peggy, Tony, Gabe, Dugan, Natasha, Happy, Monty, Pinky, Rhodey, Fury, Hill, Jim, Sam, Dernier, Arnie, Pepper, Bruce. None of them ever did.

He just needed to get away. Away from their too-gentle eyes and their uncomprehending sorrow. He needed to make it all stop, make it go away. He needed to find Bucky.

But he couldn't breathe.

He fell again, and something rushed up to meet him with dizzying, unyielding force.

And then someone was saying his name, worry shaking their voice, and Steve's shoulder and hip were aching dully, but he pulled himself up enough to blink in the dimness, and it was Bucky. Bucky reaching for him, so Steve took his hand to be sure it was real, and it was warm and strong, and Bucky was sitting on the edge of Steve's bed in their cabin aboard the Stark 1, so Steve rested his forehead against Bucky's knee and tried to calm his breathing. The warm, familiar scent of Bucky's skin helped. Bucky's hand in his hair helped too, and Steve should have batted it away and told him to get lost, but he didn't. He just needed...

He needed to be close, to _feel_ Bucky. More. Without letting go, he crawled up onto the bed beside Bucky, and buried his face in Bucky's shoulder as he waited for his breathing to return to normal.

He realized he was stroking Bucky's throat and pulled his hand away. Embarrassment twisting tightly in his chest, he mumbled, "Sorry."

"It's fine," Bucky protested, catching his hand in a deliberate grip. He put Steve's hand back against his collarbone and held it there for a moment. "It's fine."

Steve laughed softly, ducking his head—Bucky's loose hair tickled his cheek as he moved. "Thanks." Steve's voice was soft, a little embarrassed still, but relieved. He moved his hand to grip Bucky's shoulder briefly, between his neck and the metal he could feel through Bucky's t-shirt.

"Did you want to talk about it?" Bucky asked.

And Steve didn't, didn't even want to think about it, but...he sort of owed Bucky an explanation. "You were hurt." He pointed towards Bucky's neck. "I, uh...the..." He shook his head, trying to dismiss the memory, the helpless feeling of dread. "Bleeding."

Bucky nodded. "I'm sorry. I..." He looked away and his voice was small and a little vulnerable when he said, "I wish you could have good dreams."

Steve smiled sadly. "Hey," he said, squeezing Bucky's shoulder again. "At least I get to wake up to something good." And he didn't have the nightmares often, not really, not anymore.

Bucky turned back and Steve could see his smile even in the darkness. "Always." Bucky leaned forward just enough to rest his forehead against Steve's.

"Yeah." Steve swallowed, closing his eyes and gripping Bucky by the side of his neck. "Always."

They laid back down and Bucky pulled Steve against him so Steve's head was lying on his chest. Steve could hear his heartbeat. It wasn't exactly comfortable—the angle, the position of his body in relation to Bucky's and the bed—but it was comforting.

Steve wasn't sure if he'd be able to fall asleep again, wasn't sure if he wanted to risk another nightmare.

But he did, Bucky's heartbeat strong and sure in his ear and Bucky's fingers soothing and steady against his scalp.

o0o

"Good morning, sunshine." Tony smirked at Skye who was rubbing her no doubt very sore neck while blinking her dark brown eyes at him. "Oh come on, don't be grumpy; you're actually going to like this." Tony had been up since five making sure the cabin was entirely secure and un-hackable, so he hoped she really did appreciate it. JARVIS had informed him that Batroc was awake, but this was more fun, so the guy could wait until later to be interrogated.

"I will?" She stretched her neck to both sides and rolled her shoulders.

Tony grinned and bounced on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, unless you're actually a fan of sleeping on the cold, hard deck."

She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it out of her face and offered him a half-smile. "Can't say that I am, but it's not the worst place I've slept."

Tony had slept in worse places himself, but it still wasn't on his list of things he'd try again for kicks.

She blinked at him again and sort of did a double take. "You're Tony Stark!"

He made a theatrical flourish with his hands. "In the flesh."

"Wow, that's—" She stood up, awkwardly brushing at the wrinkles in her clothes. "I knew it was your ship, but actually meeting you..."

"And you're Skye?" He offered her a handshake. He was pretty sure meeting him didn't _quite_ rank with meeting Captain Rogers—who apparently warranted an automatic surrender, and that was fair—but he enjoyed the flattery nonetheless. "On account of your surrender yesterday and your general good behaviour since then, we're moving you to a cabin; you'll still be locked in, and you won't have access to any computers—well, you'll be able to talk to JARVIS, but I don't think anyone's capable of hacking him with their voice." He fixed her with a look of intent scrutiny. "You're not, are you?"

She pulled back slightly, biting her lip and shaking her head. "No, I'd, uh, need a phone or something."

Tony nodded, tugging at his shirt collar to straighten it. Good thing he wasn't planning on letting her have a phone in about _ever_. "But you'll have a real bathroom with an actual shower." And the stocked kitchenette would mean less bother with actually feeding her.

"That sounds really good." She smiled, eyes lit with genuine warmth. "Thank you."

"Now," Tony said as he turned away, expecting her to follow him out of the cell, "being a small ship, we don't have a whole lot of extra cabins." Not a whole lot he wanted to remodel as secure hacker-safe luxury prison cells, anyway. "So is there one of your companions who you'd like as a roommate? You can say no and have the cabin all to yourself, too; it's really up to you." Prisoner or no, it just seemed overly cruel to shut two people in together like that if they'd rather be alone. "Oh, and there is only one bed; big enough for two, but just the one bed." That was probably an important detail to mention before she made a decision. And Rumlow was staying right where he was until they got back to the Tower, but Happy had agreed everyone else was an option. Though moving Creed might be tricky if he decided to be difficult.

"Felicia," she replied right away. "If that's okay."

Tony nodded. "It is indeed."

Happy hovered, keeping a distrustful eye on Skye, as Tony led them to Hardy's cell. She, perhaps unsurprisingly given the way she'd flirted with him the day before, seemed a bit happier to see him than Skye had. Well, at least until Skye had realized who he was.

"Sleep well?" he asked, flashing her a mock innocent look.

Hardy rubbed at the back of her neck, wincing. "Not exactly." Didn't look _too_ worse for wear, though.

"Well," Tony said, motioning for her to follow him, "you'll probably sleep better tonight, because your friend here has requested you as her roommate in our newly-created luxury cell, complete with a real bathroom and a kitchenette." He paused, giving her a considering look. "That is, if you're okay with it—there's just the one bed, and I'm not in the mood to install another one; the floor is carpeted, though." And they could toss in some extra pillows and whatnot. "So it's still more comfortable than this." He tapped his heel against the unyielding deck plating.

She flashed a smile at him and then a more sincere one at Skye who smiled back. "No, that's totally fine. Not a problem."

"I won't be providing you with extra clothes," Tony informed them as they walked through the corridors. "But there's a clothes cleaner in the bathroom, so you should be fine." It's not like they had any clothing on board that was likely to fit either of them.

"Just as before," Happy added, "if you need to contact anyone outside your cell, let JARVIS know, and he'll pass the message along."

"Just don't expect me to referee fights over who gets the first turn in the shower," Tony quipped.

"What makes you think we'll take turns?" Hardy asked, arching one eyebrow.

And, wow, that was an image Tony really appreciated.

o0o

When Winter awoke, Steve was still asleep and still had his head on Winter's chest. A spot of drool dampening his shirt was about equal parts endearing and gross. It was uncomfortable enough, though, that he would have liked to take the shirt off to get it away from his skin, but Steve was still sleeping—and apparently peacefully—so Winter stayed still.

Maybe ten minutes later Steve stirred, making snuffling noises, breath warm through Winter's shirt. Pushing himself up, Steve rubbed a hand over his face then turned to offer Winter an apologetic smile. "Sorry; I guess I drooled on your shirt."

Winter blinked, looking down at his chest. "You did? I guess that's kinda gross."

And Steve laughed, and it was worth it.

o0o

**Notes on characters and canon:**

**The 'Wakandans' mentioned here are a group under the command of T'Challa aka "Black Panther," based primarily on the kingdom of Wakanda as portrayed in 'Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes.'**

**'Arnie' in Steve's dream is Arnie Roth, Steve's childhood friend in Earth 616 (where Bucky wasn't Steve's childhood friend, because he was a still a young child when Steve was an adult); here, Steve met Arnie during the First SHIELD-HYDRA War.**

**'Pinky' in Steve's dream is Percival Pinkerton, one of the Howling Commandos in Earth 616; here, he was a part-time member of the Howlers (like Logan).**

o0o


	10. Shouldn't Be Alone

**Chapter 10: ****Shouldn't Be Alone**

The mark Creed had made on Bucky's face was completely faded. It hadn't been deep or particularly bad, despite Creed's questionable hygiene. Still, it was a relief to see it fully healed. Before Steve could over-think it, he leaned in and kissed Bucky where the mark had been.

Bucky's quick intake of breath was quiet, but when Steve pulled back, bashful and trying not to blush, Bucky was radiating happiness. Steve still couldn't help explaining, "I don't want anyone to hurt you ever again."

Oh, and the chances of there ever being a better time were pretty damn slim. So. Steve looked down at his hands in his lap. "Buck, I need—we need to talk about something. And...I'm sorry I didn't—" He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I was supposed to bring this up sooner...I think."

Bucky pulled himself up to sit against the headboard, and a quick glance at his face showed he was listening attentively.

Steve let out a breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. "The other day when...when you kissed me, I was just surprised. I didn't expect it, and I was just caught off guard and—it wasn't bad or wrong; it didn't offend me or anything like that. But now that I've had—" He smiled a rueful half-smile. "—probably a deal more time than I needed to think about it, and, well, I just need you to know that..." He took a breath. "That it's okay. Kissing, I mean. If that's what you want to do."

Steve raised his eyes again, wanting to gauge Bucky's reaction. Bucky's face was painted with blank shock, and he said, "Oh." But then he smiled, bright and warm like the dawn, and Steve couldn't help wondering why the hell he'd waited this long to tell him, because it was as if some terrible weight had been pressing down on him but was now lifted. "It is," Bucky said, looking more solemn. "It is what I want." And he smiled again, hesitant and a little crooked as he moved towards Steve, flesh hand warm on Steve's neck and metal hand cool through the fabric of his t-shirt, and kissed his cheek. And then his jaw. Bucky's stubble rasped against Steve's skin, but that wasn't so bad, and Steve had stubble of his own, so he couldn't complain. All the while, Bucky watched Steve as if to be sure this really was okay.

Steve grinned at him to show him it really was, then ruffled his sleep-messed hair. "Let's get ready for breakfast, all right?"

o0o

With Skye and Hardy settled in their cabin-cell, Tony figured he might as well go see how Batroc was doing. Steve hadn't yet emerged from his cabin, and Tony wasn't about to bother him when Steve didn't actually work for him; if Steve wanted to question the guy some more, he could do it later. Like, whenever he wanted, because it wasn't like Batroc was going anywhere.

Maybe it was a bit weird—not that Tony ever cared what was 'weird'—but it was kind of _fun_, actually, to have prisoners. Not in an, 'oh, I should do this more often,' sort of way—not exactly. Just more of a, 'noticing the slightly disturbing positives of a situation that's happening anyway,' thing. And it really didn't seem like Tony was the only one noticing those positives; Happy was practically bursting with some sort of pride or something, because if he couldn't actually beat the crap out of the invading space pirates himself, being their attentive jailer was apparently the next best thing. Tony wasn't gonna judge.

As Tony and Happy approached Batroc's cell, Tony turned to Happy. "Hey, did you wanna do the asking questions thing for this one?"

Happy gave him a blank look. "It's your ship."

"Yes," Tony agreed, "and you're my head of security. I don't think it'd exactly be outside your job description."

Happy shook his head, smiling a little. "It wouldn't, but you _want_ to do it. You're only offering to let me do it because you're being generous."

And that was true, of course, but...

"Look," Happy added, "I'll get to talk to him later, do my little jailer routine." He nodded his head toward Tony. "You go do your Tony Stark, unimpressed genius playboy philanthropist bit—I'll wait outside." He hefted his ICER rifle. "Ready to Ice him if he does anything stupid."

One side of Tony's lips turned up. "I don't think I actually pay you enough."

Happy shrugged. "Honestly, I'd watch your back just because you're my friend." His grin was small and crooked. "I certainly wouldn't say no to a raise, though."

Tony's brow furrowed, and he took a breath. "I'm not actually sure I'm authorized to give raises anymore."

Happy chuckled. "No, you're probably not, now that I think about it." He let out an exaggeratedly dejected sigh. "I suppose I'll be waiting a while on that raise, then."

Tony quirked an eyebrow at him. "You mean you couldn't talk your wife into giving you a raise?"

Happy quirked an eyebrow in return. "This _is_ Pepper we're talking about."

And, okay, yeah, that was a fair point.

o0o

While Steve was shaving at the bathroom mirror, Winter walked up behind him and slipped his arms around him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck—giddy with being _allowed_ this. He'd helped Steve, comforted him, after his nightmare—he'd done well, and Steve was happy with him. And Steve smelled _so_ good fresh out of the shower, like everything wondrous and wholesome, like majestic power and terrifying grace held firmly in the righteous grip of gentleness. Like an angel—the kind that have to say, 'Do not be afraid,' because everyone just naturally _would_ be—might smell if angels were real. And had a smell.

Looking over Steve's shoulder at his reflection in the mirror, he saw Steve looking back. And smiling—a little bashful, but radiating affection like a godsdamned halo.

Winter smiled against the skin of Steve's neck, breathing in. "I like the way you smell."

Steve laughed a bit, sounding surprised and slightly embarrassed. "That's good...I guess. And, uh, thanks." His reflection grinned lopsidedly at Winter.

Winter wanted to hold Steve tighter, to press himself into that solid wall of reassuring power, but...no, not yet; Steve was still sore from the cracked rib. He let his hands fall to either side of Steve's waist and rested his forehead against Steve's muscular shoulder. "It is good—you're good." He frowned, suddenly worried as he remembered. "How's your rib? You...fell out of bed last night..."

"Oh," Steve said, surprised. "I'd almost forgotten about the rib." He smiled. "It's fine; doesn't hurt at all anymore." The smile became a grin, all warmth and happiness. "Must be fully healed."

Well, that was good. But... "You should—your doctor, maybe you should talk to him about it."

The corner of Steve's lips quirked up into a half-smile. "I suppose I should." Setting down the razor, Steve turned to face Winter. "Ready for some breakfast?"

Winter nodded and they turned to leave the bathroom.

"Any special requests this morning?" Steve asked.

"Would you like me to cook?" Did that count as a 'special request'?

Steve paused near the cabin's door, turning to look at Winter. "Would you like to cook?"

"I—" Winter grimaced. The closest he'd got to cooking—that he remembered—had been preparing very simple things like crackers and cheese. Well, he remembered that he'd made soup that one time, but he didn't actually remember _making_ it. "I probably won't be very good, but I think I know how to make some basic things. Like scrambled eggs. And toast." He made a frustrated sound, looking away. "If you told me what to do, it would be better."

"Oh." Steve let out a breath, understanding dawning in his eyes. Then he grinned, encouraging—trying to put Winter at ease. "Sure, I can walk you through it."

Winter looked away again, suddenly ashamed and not sure why. "Sometimes I need that."

But Steve put his hand on Winter's shoulder where it met his neck, thumb resting against his collarbone, and tried to meet his eyes. "Hey, it's okay, Buck; I'm your CO again, remember?"

And it's not like Winter actually remembered anything about the first time Steve had been his CO, but he remembered what Steve had said the previous night. He smiled softly at Steve. "I remember." Then, after a pause, he added, "Captain Rogers, sir."

Laughing, Steve looped his arm around Winter's neck, pulling him close to his side—just a little rough and filled with affection.

And suddenly the world was tilting, because this was what he used to do Steve, when Steve was small. Winter blinked to clear the haze in his eyes and found he had his flesh hand against Steve's abdomen for balance.

"You okay, Buck?" Steve's eyes were filled with concern.

"Yeah." Winter shook his head. "It was just...a memory." He offered Steve a hesitant smile, leaving his hand splayed against Steve's shirt because he liked having it there and Steve didn't seem to mind. "I used to put my arm around your neck...when you were smaller."

Steve smiled, eyes warm. "You did, Buck."

Winter frowned. "'Let's get you cleaned up'? I said that." He turned a questioning expression on Steve then made a soft sound in his throat. "You'd been in a fight; you were hurt."

Steve nodded, offering Winter a guilty smile and a bit of a shrug. "I got into a lot of fights."

Winter's jaw hardened and he glared at Steve, suddenly angry. His nostrils flared. "You were small and frail." He shoved Steve against the wall, hands against Steve's shoulders. "Were you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

Steve just stared back at him, surprise clear in his expression.

"I—" Swallowing, Winter stepped back shakily. "I didn't—I shouldn't—" He shoved his metal hand through his hair, tugging a little until it hurt. He wanted to kneel, to beg forgiveness, but Steve didn't like the kneeling. He scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. "Your rib..."

"It's fine." Steve was holding his hands up—a surrender. "I told you; my rib's fine. You didn't hurt me, Bucky—I'm pretty tough, okay?" He smiled a little crookedly, but there was worry mixed with the hope in his eyes.

Winter needed to be careful—Steve didn't know enough to be careful for himself, never had. And Winter had hurt him before. It was all too much, too loud in his head; Winter couldn't stop himself from shaking. "Please, Steve." His voice was rough, breaking. "I just—I need you to tell me what to do."

"Bucky." Steve's voice had an edge of command, clear and sure. "Bucky, I need you to look at me right now."

Winter met his eyes, because how could he do anything else?

Concern was flickering in Steve's eyes, but the set of his jaw was sure. "Good. Now breathe, Bucky; take some deep, slow breaths."

Winter still wanted to kneel—maybe more so when Steve was like this, confident and commanding—but he focused on Steve's face and did as he was told. Steve was telling him what to do; that was important. That was good and right. His obedience was relief.

"Good." Steve's voice was low, warm with approval. "That's good, Bucky; you're doing so well."

The praise filled Winter's body with sweet, shimmering light. A soft whine escaped his throat.

"Hey." Steve put his hand on Winter's flesh arm, his fingers soothing. "Talk to me: tell me how you feel."

"Good," Winter managed, offering Steve a look of gratitude. "Better."

Steve's smile glowed with relief and affection. "That's good." His fingers squeezed Winter's bicep gently. "Good enough to go have breakfast now?"

Winter nodded, returning Steve's smile. He wanted to hug Steve, so he did, and Steve's arms came up around him in response, sure and strong and warm. Pulling back after a short time, Winter glanced at Steve's face, a little nervous. "Can I still cook?"

"Of course." Steve grinned warmly, leading the way through the cabin door and into the hallway. "You still thinking eggs?"

Winter nodded then asked, "How should I cook them?"

Steve shrugged. "It doesn't really matter; scrambled is fine."

Winter gave him an unimpressed look, shaking his head slightly. "How do you like them best?"

Steve let out a breath then chuckled softly. "I suppose I've always liked over easy."

Winter nodded. "You're going to have to walk me through that, or they might come out over hard."

"I'd still eat them." Of course Steve would, but that wasn't the point.

Winter rolled his eyes. "I know, but I want to do this _right_."

"I know; I'm sorry." Steve gave him an apologetic look. "Of course I'll walk you through it." He shot Winter a soft smile. "Did you want to do all the cooking, or can I cut up some fruit or something while you do the eggs?"

Winter resisted rolling his eyes again. "Did you _want_ to cook?" All he really needed was the instructions; it didn't matter what Steve did while he gave them. Steve always made everything so damn complicated. But Steve would probably be more comfortable if he had something to do. "You can cut up fruit," Winter told him. "Just remember to keep an eye on what I'm doing."

Steve grinned cheekily. "Yes, sir."

Winter blinked at him, a little lost. When had _he_ started giving _Steve_ orders?

o0o

Tony smiled mildly down at Batroc who was seated on the floor, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, glaring sullenly up at Tony. The pirate had tried speaking French—guessing correctly that Tony wouldn't understand most of it—but Tony had just pulled out his Stark Phone and run the automatic translator app, which was not only reasonably reliable for French to English, but was also pretty amusing when it got stuff wrong—or even partly wrong. He technically could have just asked JARVIS to translate, but JARVIS would have done a better job, and the translator app was funnier specifically because of the things it got wrong. Still, JARVIS' translation could have been funny too. But, sadly, Batroc had quickly resorted to speaking English like a normal person.

Tony was pretty sure everyone from Algiers Colony, much like everyone from Nouveau Canada, spoke English—some might speak it badly, but that was pretty common everywhere. Even freaking Jotuns spoke English. Well, the only one Tony had met did, but he'd been raised Asgardian and might have been using Asgardian 'magic' translation. The 'magic' was obvious bullshit, but their translation tech was still pretty darn good. Most of the time. Unless things like claiming tech was 'magic' was itself an error in the translation. Tony smirked at the thought.

Still, Batroc was speaking English—didn't seem to happy about having slept on the floor, but then who would be? Insisted he wasn't HYDRA, but then so did everyone.

"How do I know _you_ are not HYDRA?" Batroc snapped. Probably thought he looked and sounded impressively angry, but the effect was more petulant.

Tony shrugged, tapping his phone against his lips. "You don't." He took a breath. "But you're the one who broke into my ship and attacked my friends, entirely unprovoked, so I _think_ I probably have the moral high-ground here."

o0o

"How are the eggs?" Bucky asked casually enough, but there was a bit of hesitance in his eyes.

Steve grinned, because the eggs were great, yolks just the right amount of runny. "They're perfect, Bucky. Absolutely perfect."

Bucky smiled, pleased and relieved.

"But I guess..." Steve added, poking at a piece of eggwhite with his fork. "I mean, if they weren't, it'd really be my fault, right?" He smiled lopsidedly at Bucky. "I was telling you what to do."

Bucky stared at him a bit strangely for a moment, a little intense—like maybe he wanted to say something. But he didn't say anything.

Steve frowned slightly. "You okay, Buck?"

Dropping his gaze, Bucky smiled sheepishly. "Yeah." Then he looked up again, warmth in his eyes. "I'm just...happy."

Smiling softly, Steve reached out and brushed Bucky's hair behind his ear. "I'm glad you're happy, Bucky—that makes me happy too."

Maybe it was kind of a stupid thing to say, but Bucky didn't seem to mind. He just turned his head slightly to kiss Steve's hand, keeping his eyes on Steve's face.

Steve couldn't help laughing, but Bucky didn't seem to mind that either.

o0o

"So," Steve said as he was putting his breakfast dishes in the dish cleaner. "You feel up to lifting some weights or something in the gym today?"

Winter raised an eyebrow at him. "Do _I_ feel up to it?" He shook his head, offering Steve a half-smile. "A tiny scratch on my face wouldn't stop me, even if it wasn't already fully healed."

"So that's a yes?" Steve turned toward him, eyes warm with amusement.

"You need to be careful," Winter reminded him. Steve hadn't talked to or texted his doctor, not yet.

Steve nodded, offering Winter a lopsided grin. "You're right. I was thinking I'd just spot for you this time."

Winter nodded as well. "That sounds good." It would be the first time he'd been in the gym since injuring Steve. Steve had never said anything about it, but maybe that had been part of his punishment.

"I'm glad you approve." Steve slipped his arm around Winter's waist and pulled him close, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheekbone where the scratch had been. "It was actually a pretty big scratch," he said softly.

Winter swallowed. Steve's arm felt so good, so _right_, around his waist. His voice was rough when he said, "It's all gone now, though."

"I know." Steve kissed the spot again then rested his forehead against Winter's temple. His voice was soft. "Good thing you heal fast." But then he pulled back, eyes down as though guilty. He cleared his throat. "Let's—" He gestured towards the door. "Let's go then."

Winter followed, brow furrowed as he considered what Steve could possibly be feeling guilty about. It's not like Steve ever seemed to have a shortage of invented reasons, but... As they walked into the gym, Winter put his flesh hand on Steve's arm. "Steve."

"Yeah?" Steve turned to look at him, expression expectant. But there was still that shadow in his eyes.

"What's—" Winter let his hand fall back to his side but kept his eyes on Steve's. "Is something wrong?"

"What do you mean?" Steve looked genuinely confused.

"You—" Winter shoved his hands into his pockets, ducking his head but still watching Steve carefully. "Something...seems to be bothering you." When Steve's face was still blank with incomprehension, Winter added, "Since just before we left the mess, when you kissed me."

"Oh." Steve sat down on a nearby bench, letting out a breath. He clasped his hands in front of himself, forearms resting on his knees. A flash of distress showed in his eyes and he quickly said, "It's nothing you've done, Buck; it's—" He blew out a breath through his lips and looked away then looked down at his hands. "I guess it's just a bit weird, bein' thankful that some evil HYDRA scientist shot you full of some knockoff serum back during the war. He...he _tortured_ you, Buck. He hurt you and—" His voice broke.

Winter sat down on another bench, facing Steve. "I don't actually remember any of that," he admitted. Maybe it was better that he didn't. "But Steve..."

Steve glanced up at him.

"Is that evil HYDRA scientist the reason I'm alive today?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but this was important. More important for Steve than for him. "The reason I didn't die when you thought I had?"

Looking down, Steve nodded jerkily, misery in the set of his mouth.

Briefly, Winter pictured himself sliding smoothly off the bench to kneel before Steve, face upturned. He wondered how Steve would react, wondered if it would be okay. But it probably would make Steve blush, flustered—awkward and uncomfortable. That's not what Winter wanted, not now. So he just said, "I'm glad he did it, too. I'm glad I heal fast, that I'm fast and strong. I can use that to protect you, like I did when the pirates attacked." Never mind that Steve could have taken them all on at once—and most likely won, even against Creed—had he been uninjured. There were other threats, worse threats.

Swallowing, Steve nodded. "That's what you said then." He scratched at the hair on the back of his head. "When we finally got you to a doctor, and—they wouldn't tell me anything, but they told _you_ of course, what they could figure out about what'd been done to you and...you told me what they'd said." He laughed softly, sadly. "You said you were glad he'd done it, 'cause you could use that right back against them."

He didn't remember, but this Bucky guy seemed like someone Steve had needed. Still needed. He reached out and took Steve's hand in his flesh one. "And you shouldn't be alone."

Steve lifted his head then to meet Winter's gaze, eyes damp. "I really don't think I deserve you, Buck."

As if Steve didn't deserve so much better. As if Steve didn't deserve _Bucky_, at the very least. Winter couldn't find words to respond, so he just squeezed Steve's hand tighter.

o0o

Tony was eating lunch with Rhodey when Rogers and Barnes walked in. Turning to Rhodey, Tony asked, voice pitched low enough that even the supersoldiers shouldn't be able to hear it, "Is it just me, or is Barnes actually getting hotter?"

Rhodey laughed softly, shaking his head then shrugging. He pitched his voice low as well. "I think he's doing something different with his hair?"

"Right," Tony said. Less of a stringy, 'I don't care if I look like a hobo' look. "And shaving too, I guess, though I think I may have preferred all that scruffy stubble, personally." He paused, thoughtful. "And he's not exactly Mister Giddy Joy or anything, but...he seems happier?"

"Well, that makes a lot of sense, actually." Rhodey took a sip of his water, regarding Tony over the rim of his glass. "Considering where he was when you first met him."

Tony nodded. It did make sense. Still...well, never mind. It wasn't any of Tony's business. "Hey, Rogers, Barnes," Tony called.

The two men turned toward Tony. "Yeah?" Steve said.

"Do you guys want to join me for daiquiris this evening?" Tony offered them a slightly crooked smile. "Everyone who's actually supposed to be on board my ship will be there." He grimaced slightly. "That is if I can convince Happy...and you two. I mean, the only person I've actually got to agree to be there so far is Rhodey."

Tony glanced sideways at Rhodey who smiled softly and shook his head then turned his attention to Rogers and Barnes. "You guys should come, really." He grinned, folding his arms on the table. "I don't want to be the only one."

Rogers and Barnes looked at each other, their faces wearing nearly identical questioning looks.

"What's a 'daiquiri'?" Barnes asked Steve. Because asking Tony—who was sitting right there and had brought it up—would have been totally weird.

"I think it's a sort of...alcohol," Steve replied, shrugging one shoulder.

"Yeah," Tony cut in, "it's rum, bananas—at least, I'm using bananas—lime, coconut milk, crushed ice... It tastes really great; I think you guys would like it." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "And if you don't, I promise I won't get offended."

Rogers and Barnes looked at each other again. Finally, turning back to Tony, Steve said, "Sure, Tony. What time did you want us to come by?"

"Seven?" Tony raised his eyebrows questioningly. "That work for you two?"

Rogers looked at Barnes again, but Barnes was just looking back at Rogers. Turning back to Tony, Steve nodded. "Sure; we'll be there."

It was too bad, really, that those two's telepathic link couldn't be expanded and exploited to work as a lie detector.

o0o

"So I assume Happy's filled you in on the pirate situation." Tony nodded toward Pepper's holographic image where it floated in the middle of the lab. He was tinkering with the beginnings of what might eventually become a lie detector. It's not like they hadn't been invented long before, but no one had yet been able to make one that was actually reliable. At least not all the time. And what good was a lie detector that only worked part of the time? Wasn't that the same as just guessing? But maybe he could find a way around the inherent flaws in the previous designs. Maybe.

"He has," Pepper replied, nodding. "Maria has been organizing things here so there will be suitable holding cells for all the prisoners when you arrive."

"Maria?" Tony quirked an eyebrow. "As in Hill, as in our _newest_ member of security?"

Pepper's smile was perhaps equal parts longsuffering and indulgent. "Happy approved her promotion. And it's not like we aren't sure she's qualified." Well, that was true; she'd been Fury's second, after all. Though, the fact that Fury himself was now _dead_ probably didn't reflect so well on her qualifications for 'security'. But...she'd helped Steve and Natasha take down Pierce and that whole 'Project Insight' mess, and Steve spoke highly of her and was pretty sure she wasn't HYDRA, so there was that.

"Oh, speaking of..." Tony smirked, glancing up at Pepper. "Did Happy mention he wants a raise?"

Pepper raised an eyebrow. "Was this your idea?"

Tony nodded his head slightly from side to side, expression thoughtful. "Kinda." He frowned at the components in front of him. "Oh, I meant to ask: how are the new medical staff settling in? Carter and...Simmons, was it?"

"We haven't had any medical emergencies, but they've worked out a schedule with Bruce, and I haven't heard any complaints. Simmons is apparently something of a fan of Banner's." A smile coloured Pepper's voice. "She's positively thrilled to be working with him."

The corner of Tony's mouth turned up. It seemed he and this Simmons had something in common.

After a pause Pepper added, "Shannon Carter, Sharon's niece, has been spending a lot of time with Rhodey's kids." Only one of 'Rhodey's kids', his son Michael, was technically his child, but Rhodey had been raising his niece alongside Michael since she was five.

Tony made a vague sort of grunt. Maybe Shannon and Michael together would be able to distract Lila with something other than getting underfoot in the lab. Not that the lab was ever a safe place for kids her age, no matter how fascinating it obviously was. What _were_ children supposed to do all day, anyway? "Pretty soon we'll have enough kids for an actual school—to keep our new prison company." He turned his face towards Pepper's image, letting out a resigned sigh. "Since when did we become civilization?"

"When the rest of civilization collapsed?" Pepper's smile was a bit too...mysterious? But if it was important and he needed to know, she'd tell him.

Shrugging mentally, Tony bent his head back over his work. "So does that mean you're the Prime Minister?"

"Does that mean you're the king?" she retorted.

Tony didn't bother repressing his shudder. "Gods, I hope not."

o0o

**Notes on characters and canon:**

**Michael Rhodes****is Rhodey's son in Earth-83438.**

**Lila Rhodes ****is Rhodey's niece in Earth-616. ****Her mother was Rhodey's sister, Jeanette Rhodes.**

o0o


End file.
